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Class_ P 7? 4 2 O O 

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Huitfeldt-Kaas Collection 



KOUTLEDGE'S BRITISH POETS. 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS. 



J 




ty^ZtiBK? 



ROBERT BURKS, 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



BOBEET SUKNS. 



EDITED BY 

THE RET. ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT. 



lllttsfrattb b 2 Sir lojjn CUhttt, &.&&. 



^ NEW EDITION. 



LONDON : 
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, 

THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. 
NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET. 



*>° 






LONDON : 

jAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, 

COVENT GARDEN. 






>• 






PEEFACE. 



The Poems of Burns have been edited, and his Life has 
been written by eminent countrymen, with a copious- 
ness of illustration and a minuteness of inquiry altogether 
beyond my abilities and my limits. Perhaps an English 
reader sometimes thinks the work slightly overdone, and 
even feels a very languid curiosity about the character 
of " Poosie Nansie," or the politics of Dumfries. I have 
not, however, intentionally underrated the interest of 
my subject. The Text has been carefully examined, 
and the notes convey the information which was inci- 
dentally furnished by the Poet and his Brother, and 
generally in their own language. With a hope of ren- 
dering the Scottish Poems less difficult to the inex- 
perienced eye, the harder words are explained at the 
foot of the page, and, I trust, with sufficient accuracy. 



St. Catherine's, Bear Wooa\ 
. May 7, 1856. 



CONTENTS, 

ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED. 



PAGE 

Address to the Deil . • . • • • • . • 37 

to Edinburgh 119 

spoken by Miss Fontenelle at the theatre, Dumfrieg . 181 

Adown Winding Nith - 323 

Afton Water ........ . 306 

Aiken, Robert, Esq., Epitaph for ..„••• 458 

Altar to Independence, Inscription for • • • • 187 

Altho' Thou maun never be Mine . . • • * .283 

Amang the Trees • • 371 

An' O ! my Eppie 439 

And maun I still on Mary doat ? 341 

As down the Burn they took their way • • . • • 395 

As I was wandering 396 

Auld Farmer's New- Year Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie, 

on giving her the accustomed rip of Corn to hansel in the New 

Year ,80 

Auld lang syne • 343 

Auld Man, The 273 

Auld Rob Morris 253 

Author's earnest Cry and Prayer 10 

Author's Farewell to his Native Country • . . • .339 

Bank of Flowers, On a ........ 373 

Bank-note, Lines written on a. • • . . • .242 

Banks o'Doon 303 

Banks of Devon 322 

Banks of Nith 2f<9, 3S5> 

Bannockburn . • • . . • • • • . 342 
Bannocks o' Barley . • .. , • . . .396 

Bard's Epitaph . 460 

Battle of Sheriff-Muir, between the Duke of Argyle and the Earl 

of Mar 351 

Beelzebub, Address of, to the President of the Highland Society . 229 

Behold the Hour . 305 

Belles of Mauchline .Ida 

Bessy and her Spinnin' Wheel ....... 299 

Big-bellied Bottle 338 

Birks of Aberfeldy 284 

Birth of a Posthumous Child, oorn in peculiar cVcumstrnce- of 

Family .Distress, lines on the • * . . . . ,1*4 



viii 



CONTENTS. 



Blackloek, Dr., lines to • 

Blair, Sir James Hunter, on the Death of 

Blissful Day, The 

Blithe hae I been on yon Hill . 

Blithe was She • • • 

Blue-eyed Lassie, The 

Bluid-red Ttose at Yule may blow 

Bonnie Ann .... 

Bonnie Bell .... 

Bonnie Blink o' Mary's E'e • 

Bonnie Lad that's far awa' 

Bonnie Lesley .... 

Bonny Peggy .... 

Bonny Wee Thing . 

Book-worms, The • 

Bottle and Friend 

Braes o' Ballochmj'le . 

Braw Lads of Gaila Water . 

Brigs of Ayr, The 

Bruar Water, the Humble Petition of, to the 

Burnet, Miss, Elegy on 

Burns — Extempore 

, Miss, hnes written under her Picture 

Bushby, John, Writer in Dumfries, Epitaph on 
By Allan Stream ... 



Caledonia 

?alf, The 

Canst thou leave me thus? . 
Captain Grose .... 

, his Peregrinations throu 

Antiquities of that Kingdom . 
Captain's. Lady, The . 
Cardin' o't, The .... 
Carle of Kellyburn Brae3 • 
Carles of Dysart .... 
Cessnock Banks .... 
Charming Month of May . . 
Chevalier's Lament 
Chloris, Ah! .... 

, Verses to . * . 

, on her Illness 



Clarinda ..... 

Clergyman, lines sent to a, whom he had o!Tended 

Cock up your Beaver . 

Collier Laddie, The , . . 

Come, let me take thee . » 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie • 

Coming through the Eye . . 

Contented wi' little . . • 

Cooper o'Cuddie, The . . • 

Goiter's Saturday Night • • 

Country Laird, not quite so wise as Solomon, Er 

Country La>sie ...... 

Court of Session — Extempore in the 



Xoble Duke ox 



gh Scotland, collect 



ftaph 



on 



Athol 



PAOB 
174 
213 
293 
325 
288 
291 
419 
315 
307 
320 
321 
370 
383 
298 
239 
360 
293 
399 
26 
159 
177 
742 
245 
459 
263 



gthe 



184, 



CONTENTS. IX 

PAGB 

Craigie-burn-wood . . . • • • i • . 394 
Cruikshank, Miss, a very Young Lady, lines to . • • . 157 
Cunningham, Mr., To 317 

DaintieDavdb . • • • • ». • • • • 236 

Daer Lord, lines on an Interview with • • • • • • 178 

Damon and Sylvia ....••••• 381 

Davie a Brother Poet, Epistles to • • • • • 87, 167 

Dean of Faculty, The 358 

Death, Prayer on the Prospect of 103 

Stanzas on «... 103 

Song of 252 

Death and Dr. Hornbook 22 

Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, the Author's only pet Yowe 40 

Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq 114 

Deil, Address to the « • • • 37 

Deil's away wi' the Exciseman • 324 

Delia— an Ode 212 

Deluded Swain • 266 

Despondency ........ a . 93 

Denks dang o'er my Daddie . * 388 

Dove, John, Innkeeper, Mauchline, Epitaph on . . • .459 

Dumfries Volunteers 352 

Dumourier, Gen., Address to 378 

Duncan Gray 255 

Dundas, Robt., Esq., of Arniston, on the Death of . . . 231 

Edinburgh, Address to 119 

Election, The 431 

Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson 137 

on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo . • . .177 

— ■ — on the Death of Robert Rui-seaux 197 

on the Year 1788 . . . * . . . .210 

on the Death of Peg Nicholson . • . . . .237 

Ellisland Theatre, Prologue spoken at the 176 

Elphinstone's Translation of Martial's Epigrams, Epigram on . 457 

Epigrams 452 

Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet . . . . . 87, 167 

— to a Young Friend 109 

to John Lapraik, an old Scoittish Bard . • . 121, 124 

to John Rankin . . . • • • • . 132 

to Robert Graham, Esq. . .... 142,144,221 

to Wm. Creech • • 194 

to Mr. M'Adam . . . 205 

from Esopus to Maria ••••••» 218 

to Major Logan 224 

to Hugh Parker • ••••»•« 227 

Epitaph, The .......... 139 

on a Friend ..•••••«• 193 

^- on the Poet's Daughter . . • • . . .227 

■ on Gabriel Richardson 227 

— — — on Miss Jessy Lewars . • • • • • .238 

on Holy Willie 450 

■ on a Country Laird ....... 457 

on Wee Johnny ..•-..•«.. 458 



X CONTENTS. 

PAG* 
Epitaph on a celebrated Ruling Elder . • I . .458 

for Robert Aiken, Esq. 458 

for Gavin Hamilton, Esq. • . . . . .458 

on my Father •.«••••• 459 

on John Dove . 459 

on John Bushby ........ 459 

on a Bard » . 460 

Eppie M'Nab « .438 

An' O ! my . .439 

Esopus, Epistle from, to Maria . . . * . . .218 

Evan Banks 274 

Excise, extemporaneous effusion on being appointed to the . 455 

Fair Eliza 301 

Fall of Fyers, near Lochness, lines written with a pencil while 

standing by the 166 

Falsehood in the Rev. Dr. B.'s Looks, on hearing that there was 455 

Farewell, The 220, 340, 406 

Farewell, thou Stream 274 

Farewell to Nancy 319 

Farewell to Eliza 335 

Father, Epitaph on my 459 

Fergusson, the Poet, Inscription to his Memory . . . .196 
— — Verses written under his Portrait . . . .211 

Fete Champetre, The 417 

First Psalm 105 

First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm 106 

Five Carlins, The — an Election Ballad 386 

Fontenelle, Miss, Address spoken by 181 

on Seeing her in a favourite Character . .237 

For a' that and a' that 346 

For the Sake of Somebody 308 

Forlorn, my Love 281 

Frae the Friends and Land I love 4 43 

Fragment 379 

Friars-Carse Hermitage, on Nith-side, lines written on . .134 

Friend's House, lines left at a 104 

Full well thou knowest . . . . , . . .286 

Galla Water . , 257 

Gallant Weaver, The ' . .345 

Galloway, Lord, on Seeing the beautiful Seat of 454 
lines to, on the Author being threatened with 

his resentment ...'..... 454 

Gane is the Day 296 

Glencairn, James, Earl of, Lament for 146 

Globe Tavern, Dumfries, lines written on the Window of the . 457 

Gloomy December 304 

Goblet, Inscription on a 239 

Gouden Locks of Anna 321 

9owdie. John, of Kilmarnock, Letter to, on the publication of his 

Essays . . / 215 

Grace before Dinner - 196 

Graham, Robert, Esq , of Fintry, Epistles to . . 142, 144, 221 
— lines to, on receiving a Favour 193 



CONTENTS. XI 

PAGB 

Green grow the Rashes S36 

Gude e'en to you, Kimmer ........ 440 

Guidwife of Wauchope House, Answer to Verses addressed to the 

Poet by the . . . . ' 197 

Guilford Good . , 161 

Had I a Cave .. •••••• . . 274 

Had I the Wyte 401 

Haggis, To a 113 

Halloween 63 

Hamilton, Gavin, Esq., of Mauchline, a Dedication to • .114 

■ lines to 204 

■ Epitaph for 458 

Happy Trio, The 294 

Hark ! the Mavis * 269 

Hee Balou 402 

Henderson, Captain, Matthew, Elegy on . • • .137 

Her Daddie forbad 402 

Here is the Glen 267 

Here's a Health to them that's awa . • . . . .380 

Here's his Health in Water . 395 

Here's to thy Health, my bonnie Lass 403 

Hermit, The 392 

Heron Balads, The 429 

Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher . . . . • . . . 283 

Hey the Dusty Miller 404 

Highland Laddie, The . .420 

Highland Lassie, The .312 

Highland Mary 342 

Highland Widow's Lament . 413 

Holy Fair, The 15 

Holy Willie's Prayer 448 

Epitaph on 450 

How cruel are the Parents .279 

How Lang and Dreary . . . . . . # . 271 

Husband, Husband, cease your Strife i . . . • 265 

« I burn, I burn" 244 

I do confess thou art sae fair . . . . , k .318 
I dream'd I lay where Flowers were springing * . • .315 

I love my Jean • * . 292 

I see a Form, I see a Face » , 280 

I'll aye ca' in by yon Town ...... r 359 

I'll Kiss thee yet # « 360 

Impromptu on Mrs. Riddles' Birthday 189 

" In vain would Prudence " 243 

Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth, lines written with a pencil over the 

Chimney-piece in the Parlour of the 164 

Inscription for an Altar to Independence, at Kerroughtry . .187 
Inventory, The; in answer to the usual Mandate sent by a 
Surveyor of the Taxes, requiring a Return of the Num- 
ber of Horses, Servants, Carriages, &c, kept • . . 168 

Invitation, extempore Answer to an 436 

It is na, Jean, thy Bonnie Face 407 



XU CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Jamie, come, try me . • • ♦ 407 

Jessie 259 

Jockey's ta'en the Parting Kiss . . • . . . .313 

John Anderson, my Jo 295 

John Barleycorn 331 

Jolly Beggars 71 

Joyful Widower, The 405 

Katharine Jaffrat • • .437 

Kemble, Mrs., lines written and presented to • • 456 

Kenmures, on and awa • • .411 

Kennedy, Mrs. John, lines to 230 

King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries, lines written on a Window at the 457 

Kirk of Lamington, The 239 

Kirk's Alarm . . . ? 233 

Lady, lines to a, with a present of a pair of drinking-glasses . 207 

Lady Mary Ann 412 

Lady Onlie 395 

Lady's Bonnet at Church, lines on a 118 

Lady's Pocket-book, lines written extempore in a . . .452 

Lament, The . . . 91 

■ written at a time when the Poet was about to leave 

Scotland 211 

^— of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the approach of Spring . 140 

for James, Earl of Glencairn 146 

Landlady, count the Lawin 408 

Lapdog, named Echo, on the Death of a 232 

Lapraik, John, Epistles to 121, 124 

Lines to 199 

Lass o' Ballochmyle 251 

Lass that made the Bed to me . 389 

Lass of Ecclefechan 400 

Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks 272 

Last May a Braw Wooer 282 

Lazy Mist, The 2S9 

League and Covenant, The 238 

Let not Woman e'er complain 329 

Lewars, Miss Jessy, of Dumfries, lines to, with books which the 

Bard presented her 189 

Verses on 238 

Epitaph on , . .238 

— — — on the recovery of 233 

Liberty — a Fragment . 196 

Life, Poem on, addressed to Col. de Peyster, Dumfries . .192 

Lincluden Abbey, To the Ruins of 247 

Logan, Miss, lines to, with Beattie's Poems, as a New Year's 

Gift 109 

Major, Epistle to 224 

Logan Braes 260 

Lord Gregory 257 

Louis, what reck I by thee? 307 

Lovely Davies 410 

Lovely Lass of Inverness 309 

Lover's Morning Salute to his Mistress 272 



CONTENTS. Xlii 

P1GB 

M'Ai>am, Mr., of Craigen-Gillan, Epistle to . . . .205 

M'Leod, John, Esq., lines on reading in a Newspaper the Death of 158 

31' Math, Rev. John, Lines to the 201 

M'Murdo, John, Esq., Lines to ....... 232 

M'Pherson's Farewell . . . • • • • .857 

Mailie, Poor, Death and Dying Words of 40 

Man was made to mourn ....••.. 100 

Mark yonder Pomp • • • . 279 

Mary, Queen of Scots, Lament of. . • • • . ,140 

Mary, Prayer for « • 362 

Lines to « • . 377 

Mary in Heaven, lines to • • .376 

Mary, hae I been teething a Heckle . • • . . .414 

Mary Morison 366 

Master of the House, where Burns had been hospitably entertained 

— a verse composed and repeated to the . . . .196 
Maxwell, Dr., lines to, on Miss Jessy Staig's Recovery . .245 

Meg o' the Mill . . .259 

Miss C , lines to ... . 239 

Mitchell, Mr., Collector of Excise, Dumfries, Poem addressed to 190 

Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice 187 

Montgomery's Peggy 373 

Mother's Lament for the Death of her Son 370 

Mountain Daisy, To a 107 

Mouse, To a, on turning her up in her Nest with the Plough, 

November, 1785 .83 

Musing on the Roaring Ocean . • . • . . .287 

My ain kind Dearie ! O 253 

My Chloris 328 

My Father was a Farmer 368 

My Harry was a Gallant gay * .391 

My Heart was ance 407 

My Heart's in the Highlands • • . • . . .316 

My Hoggie 428 

My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upon't . . . . .381 
My Love she's but a Lassie yet ....... 409 

My Nannie's awa' , , .275 

My Nannie, O . . . . 335 

My Tocher's the Jewel . . • . . « ♦ .163 
My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing . , ♦ . . .254 

Naebody • , . 254 

New-year Day — a Sketch 185 

Ninetieth Psalm, first six Verses of the • • . • • 106 
Nithsdale's Welcome hame • . . • • • .421 

Now Western Winds • • • • • • * .337 

O aye my Wife she dang me 382 

O Bonnie was yon rosy Brier • . . • . .280 

" O can ye labour lea " .' 250 

O for ane-an-twenty, Tarn ! • . . . . • .298 

O guid Ale comes ......... 384 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ••••••. 276 

O lay thy Loof in mine, Lass ....... 383 

O leave Novels ..*«••'••<.. 377 



XIV CONTENTS, 

Mally's meek, Mally's sweet . • • • • • ,415 

O May thy Morn ....... * • 808 

O once I lov'd a Bonnie Lass . • • • . • • 356 

O Philly . . 33C 

O Poortith , • 256 

O raging Fortune's withering Blast . • - « » .374 

O saw ye my Dear ? • » • 327 

O steer her up • • • • 416 

O that I had ne'er been married • • 441 

wat ye wae that loes me . • • . • « .441 

O were I on Parnassus' Hill . . • . • » .292 
O were my Love yon Lilac fair .....»• 325 
O wert thou in the Cauld Blast ? ••..*. 312 

O wha is She that lo'es me ? 353 

O what ye wha's in yon Town ? • ...... 310 

O whare did ye get? • 416 

O why the Deuce 384 

Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Oswald .... 135 

Odes to Delia . S12 

On the Seas and far away . • M . . . . .268 

One night as I did wander 378 

Open the Door to me, oh I 258 

Ordination, The 32 

Oswald, Mrs., Ode to the Memory of 135 

Our Thrissles flourished fresh and fair * • . . .397 

Out ever the Forth ......... 321 

Owl, To the . 245 

Parker, Hugh, Epistle to. • 227 

Pastoral Poetry, Poem on 182 

Peg Nicholson, Elegy on the Death of • • . . .237 

Peg-a-Ramsey 398 

Peggy's Charms 218, 314 

Phillis the Fair ■ . 262 

Ploughman, The . 426 

Poem written to a Gentleman who had sent him a Newspaper, 

and offered to continue it free of expense .... 177 
Poems, verses written on the Blank Leaf of his last Edition, pre- 
sented to the Lady whom he had often celebrated under the 

name of Chloris 184 

Poet's Daughter, Epitaph on the . . . 227 

Poet's Welcome to his illegitimate Child . • • . .214 

Polly Stewart , . . 385 

Posie, The 302 

Postscript . 130 

Poverty ......456 

Prayer on the Prospect of Death .103 

under the Pressure of violent Anguish • • • .105 

for Mary 362 

Prologue spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland . . • • .176 

for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit Night .... 209 

spoken by Mr. Woods • .240 

Kankine, John, Epistle to, enclosing some Poems • • - 13$ 

Verses address. -? to , , • • • *©*,-, 4d6 



CONTENTS. XT 

f AGU 

Ranting Dog the Daddie ot . . • • • • ,817 

Rattlin', Roarin' Willie .. • ,415 

Raving Winds around her blowing . . . . * .287 
Remorse ...••••«• 242 

Richardson, Gabriel, Epitaph on 227 

Riddel, Captain, Glenriddel, lines to • . % . *'"'•• 206 

Mrs., Impromptu on her Birthday • •. • - ,189 

Robert, Sonnet on the Death of • • • .188 

— * lines on ...•»•• • 240 

Rights of Woman, The 180 

Rigs o' Barley • . . 385 

Robin Shure in Hairst . .••••••• 385 

Rosebud, A, by my Early Walk ....... 289 

Ruin, To 108 

Ruisseaux, Robert, Elegy on the death of .... * 197 
Ruling Elder, Epitaph on a celebrated one . • • • • 458 

Sae far awa • • 416 

Scaring some Water-fowl in Loch -turit . . • • .451 
Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish, Fifeshire, on a . « « .456 
Scotch Bard gone to the West Indies, lines on a • • .111 

Scotch Drink 7 

Scroggam 442 

Selkirk Grace, The 237 

Sensibility, lines on 378 

Shade of Thomson, Address to the, on crowning his Bust at 

Ednam, Roxburghshire, with Bays 157 

She says she lo'es me best of a' 270 

She's Fair and Fausse 302 

Sheriff-Muir, Battle of 351 

Sick Child, On a .245 

Simmer's a pleasant Time 419 

Simpson, William, lines to . . . . . . . .127 

Sketch 172, 208 

, New-year's Day 185 

Smellie, Mr. William, Extempore lines on . . . . 187 

Smith, James, lines to 43 

Sodger's Return, The . • • . • • . • .366 
Song, an excellent new one ....... 433 

Ah, Chloris 436 

Songs, Collection of 251, et seq., 266, 277, 346 

Sonnet on the death of Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel • .188 

on hearing a Thrush sing in a Morning Walk • .190 

Stanzas on the Prospect of Death « 103 

Stay, my Charmer ....... t . 285 

Strathallan's Lament • ..286 

Streams that glide * . 324 

Suicide, lines on a . 220 

Sutherland, Mr., Prologue for his Benefit Night, Dumfries - • 209 

Sweet fa's the Eve 275 

Sweetest May 378 

Syme, Mr., Extempore lmes to, on refusing to dine with him, 

after having been promised the first of Company and the 

first of Cooking 189 

lines to, with a Present of a dozen of Porter . • . 190 



XVI CONTENTS. 

FAG* 

Tailor, The 422 

T ait, James, of Genconner, Letter to . . * . . .216 
Tarn the Chapman ......... 245 

Tarn Glen ........... 295 

Tarn O'Shanter ....<,..., 149 

Tarn Samson's Elegy < , ., . , 60 

Taylor, John, lines to . « , ., . . . . . 241 

Tears I shed .... : ..... 443 

Terraughty, lines to. on his Birthday ...... 206 

Theniel Menzie's Bonnie Mary . • . , , . .405 

There was a Lass 261, 425 

There was a Bonnie Lass 391 

There was a Lad 365 

There'll never be Peace till Jamie comes hame .... 364 
There's nothing like the Honest Nappy * . . . 247 

There's a Youth in the City 211 

There's News, Lasses 442 

Tho' Cruel Fate 314 

Thomson, Address to the Shade of 157 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 327 

" Though Fickle Fortune" 244 

Thrush, Sonnet on hearing one sing 190 

Tibbie, I hae seen the Day 291 

Tibbie Dunbar 392 

Tither Morn, The 422 

To 243 

To a , on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church . .118 

Toast, A 453 

Toast, The 238 

Tombstone, Inscription on the, erected by Burns to the Memory 

ofFergusson 196 

Toothache, Address to the . ..... .163 

Tragic Fragment .249 

Twa Dogs, The 1 

Twa Herds, The . 4±o 

'Twas na her bonny blue E'e 278 

Tytler, Mr. William, Poetical Address to, with the Present of 

the Bard's Picture . .184 

Unco Quid, or the Kigidly Righteous, Address to the . . .58 

Union, The 390 

Up in the Morning early , „ 214 

Verses written on the blank leaf of a copy of his first edition , 214 

Vision, A .321 

Vision, The • » , .61 

Vowels, The , . 207 

Wandering Willie 260 

•« Was e'er Pair Poet" . . . 246 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray . • . . • , .427 

Wee Johnny, Epitaph on . . . • • „ . 458 

Wee Willie . 392 

Wha is that at my Bower Door 3J9 

What can a Young Lassie do \vi' an Auld Man? • • . 297 



CONTENTS. XVII 

When Guilford Good, our Pilot, stood * 161 

When first I came to Stuart Ryle 372 

When I think on those happy Days 438 

Where are the Joys ? . 326 

Where hae ye been > • . 428 

Whistle, The 170 

Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad 264 

Whistle owre the lave o't 355. 

Whiteford, Sir John, Bart., lines sent to, with the "Lament for 

James Earl of Glencairn" 148 

Why, why tell thy Lover? ........ 349 

Wiliie Chalmers 240 

Willie's Wife 305 

Wilt Thou be my Dearie 267 

Winter . 95 

Winter it is past 379 

Winter Night, A 85 

Women's Minds ....••••.. 37ft 

Woodlark, Address to the 278 

Wounded Hare limping by me, which a fellow had just shot at, 

lines on seeing . . . 156 

Ye Jacobites by Name 435 

Ye Sons of Old Killie 434 

Young Friend, Epistle to a . 109 

Young Island Rover 285 

Young Jockey 357 

Young Lady, Verses to a, with a Present of Songs . . . 181 

Young Peggy . ME 



ROBERT BURNS. 



Upon a winter day of 1786-7, the boy Jeffrey stopped in 
the High-street of Edinburgh to stare at a man whose ap- 
pearance greatly struck him. A shopkeeper, standing at 
his door and observing the boy's look of wonder, tapped 
him on the shoulder, saying, " Aye, laddie, ye may weel 
look at that man — he is Eobert Burns." Since that day, 
admiration has shown itself in every shape, the most 
touching and the most grotesque, from the panegyric of 
Wordsworth to the phrenzy of Wilson, rolling himself on 
the spot where " Tarn O'Shanter" was composed. 

Eobert Burns was born January 25th, 1759, the eldest 
child of William and Agnes Burns, or Burness, as they 
were accustomed to spell the name. His father, bailiff and 
gardener of a country gentleman, Mr. Ferguson, rented a 
few acres of land, on which he had built a small hovel of 
clay and straw. It stood by the roadside, a Scotch mile 
and a half from the town of Ayr, and near the famous 
Alloway Kirk. Eobert was sent to school before his sixth 
year, and soon found a zealous instructor in John Mur- 
doch, who was chosen, a few months afterwards, to replace 
the former teacher. We are told by Gilbert Burns, that 
his brother greatly benefitted by the lessons in grammar, 
and became " remarkable for the fluency and correctness 
of his expressions." He read the few books that came in 
his way with much pleasure and improvement. Murdoch's 
library was not rich, but it contained a " Life of Hanni- 
bal," which gave to the ideas of Burns such a military turn 
that he used to strut up and down after the recruiting 
drum and bagpipe, and wish himself tall enough to be a 
soldier. The warlike \rdour was heightened, when, latei 

»2 



XX BUEN8. 

in youth, lie borrowed the story of Wallace from toe 
blacksmith, and walked half-a-dozen miles, on a summer 
day, " to pay his respects to Leglen Wood, with as much 
devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto. 
truth, we might say of him, in poet's words, — 

He had small need of books ; for many a tale, 
Traditionary, round the mountains hung, 
And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, 
Nourished Imagination in her growth, 
And gave the mind that apprehensive power, 
By which she is made quick to recognize 
The moral properties and scope of things. 

Burns tells us, in his delightful " Confessions" — " In my 
infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an old woman 
who resided in the family, remarkable for her ignorance, 
credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest 
collection in the country of tales and songs concerning 
devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spun- 
kies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, 
cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other 
trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry; 
but had so strong an effect on my imagination, that to this 
hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp 
look-out in suspicious places ; and though nobody can be 
more sceptical than I am in such matters, yet it often takes 
an effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors. The 
earliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure in, was 
" The Vision of Mirza," and a hymn of Addison's, be- 
ginning, " How are thy servants blest, O Lord !" I par- 
ticularly remember one half-stanza which was music to my 
boyish ears . — 

For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave — . 

Hi? memory was strong, and, when he was in Edin- 
burgh, he repeated to Mr. Stewart some long ballads in 
the Scottish dialect which, in childhood, he had learned 
trom his mother. And thus, though he " cost the school- 
master some thrashings," he grew up an excellent English 



BUENS. x ..| 

scholar, and, by the time that he was ten or eleven years 
old, he had obtained a critical acquaintance with substan- 
tives, verbs, and participles ; nor was he without robuster 
training, for in the first season that he held the plough, 
" he made a shift" to unravel " Euclid" by his father's 
hearth. 

When the period drew nigh that the boy, in his own 
strong words, must have marched off to be one of the little 
underlings about a farm-house, William Burns ventured 
upon a speculation, which, he hoped, might enable him to 
keep his children at home longer. His employer had a 
farm, Mount Oliphant, comprising eighty or ninety Eng- 
lish acres, and he accepted William Burns as the tenant, 
at a rent, for the first six years, of forty pounds ; more- 
over, he assisted him with money to provide the necessary 
stock. The family went to their new abode, Whitsuntide, 
1766. William Burns was a well-informed and thoughtful 
man, and turned the lonely life of his children to good 
account. In the winter evenings he taught arithmetic and 
geography to the boys, and procured from a book society 
in Ayr, the works of Derham and Bay upon the Wisdom 
and Power of God. Better books he could scarcely have 
found ; and Gilbert assures us that his brother read them 
with eagerness. Stackhouse's " History of the Bible" was 
also a treasure, for its information is large and curious. A 
fortunate accident increased his wealth : a relation wanting 
to purchase a " Complete Letter Writer," the shopman, 
by mistake, as Gilbert tells us, produced " A small Collec- 
tion of Letters, by the most eminent Writers, with a few 
sensible Directions for attaining an easy Epistolary Style." 
He adds — "This book was to Robert of the greatest 
consequence." 

Between his thirteenth and fourteenth years, the poet's 
handwriting was much improved by a few lessons in the 
parish school of Dalrymple ; and about the same time " a 
bookish acquaintance" of their father obtained for the 
brothers "a reading of two volumes of Bichardson'a 



XX11 BUENS. 






' Pamela ;' " and Murdoch, then the teacher of English in 
Ayr, sent the works of Pope. Gilbert writes : — " The 
summer after we had been at Dalrymple school, my father 
sent Robert to Ayr to revise his English grammar with 
his former teacher. He had been there only one week, 
when he was obliged to return, to assist at the harvest. 
When the harvest was over he went back to school, where 
he remained two weeks ; and this ^mpletes the account 
of his school education, except one grammar quarter some 
time afterwards, that he attended the parish school of 
Kirk Oswald (where he lived with a brother of my 
mother) to learn surveying." Murdoch happened to be 
learning French, and he generously imparted his know- 
ledge to his pupil, who entered on the study with such 
zeal, that in the second week he assaulted " Telemachus." 
" But now," in the swelling language of the pedagogue, 
"the plains of Mount Oliphant began to whiten, and 
Robert was summoned to relinquish the pleasing scenes 
that surrounded the grotto of Calypso." He took back 
with him a French grammar, and the beautiful tale of 
Penelon ; and, in a little time, by the help of these books, 
he was able to read and understand any French authors 
who fell in his way. An attack upon Latin was not 
equally successful ; his perseverance seldom outlasting 
a week, and the study being regarded as a sort of penance, 
or refuge in ill-humour. He used it for a cold-bath. This, 
writes the Ettrick Shepherd with pleasant confidence, is 
exceedingly good, and rates the Latin much as I have 
always estimated it. English literature, however, retained 
its full charm, and the love was nurtured by the kindness 
of a widow lady, Mrs. Paterson, who lent Pope's trans- 
lation of Homer, and the " Spectator," to the youthful 
student. 

Mount Oliphant wanted every gleam to cheer it. The 
parish contained no farm so intractable ; the soil being 
aim 09 1 the poorest to be found under the plough. On the 
part of the family, no effort was wanting. Every member 



■ 



BUBNS. XX111 

of it taxed his strength to the utmost. Robert was the 
principal labourer, Gilbert driving the plough, and help- 
ing him to thresh the corn. The food of the hermit was 
indoors, as well as the gloom, butcher's meat being quite 
unknown. 

In this dreary weather Burns reached his sixteenth 
year, toiling and sad-hearted, until in the harvest-field 
Love found him. He relates his first passion : — " You 
know our country custom of coupling a man and woman 
together as partners in the labours of harvest. In my 
fifteenth autumn my partner was a bewitching creature, a 
year younger than myself. My scarcity of English denies 
me the power of doing her justice in that language ; but 
you know the Scottish idiom — she was a bonnie, sweet, 
sonsie lass. In short, she altogether, unwittingly to her- 
self, initiated me in that delicious passion, which, in spite 
of acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence, and book- 
worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of human joys, 
our dearest blessing here below ! How she caught the 
contagion I cannot tell : you medical people talk much of 
infection from breathing the same air, the touch, &c. ; but 
I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not 
know myself why I liked so much to loiter behind with 
her, when returning in the evening from our labours ; why 
the tones of her voice made my heart-strings thrill like an 
iEolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such a 
furious rattan when I looked and fingered over her little 
hand, to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and thistles. 
Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung 
sweetly ; and it was her favourite reel to which I at- 
tempted giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not 
so presumptuous as to imagine that I could make verses 
like printed ones composed by men who had Greek and 
Latin ; but my girl sung a song, which was said to be com- 
posed by a small country laird's son, on one of his father's 
maids, with whom he was in love ! and I saw no reason 
why I might not rhyme as well as he ; for, excepting that 



XXiV BURNS. 

he could smear sheep, and cast peats, his father living 
in the moor-lands, he had no more scholar-craft than 
myself." 

And here I am reminded of that sweet passage in 
Virgil, which Mr. Sogers thought so true to nature, that 
he must have drawn it from early recollections : — " You 
were little when I first saw you. You were with your 
mother, gathering fruit in our orchard, and I was your 
guide. I was entering my thirteenth year, and just able 
to reach the boughs from the ground." 

At the end of six years, William Burns endeavoured to 
find a farm of happier promise, but he sought it in vain, 
and, continuing his anxious toils through Hre years, he re- 
moved, Whitsuntide, 1777, to the larger farm of Lochlea, 
in the parish of Tarbolton. There the first four years 
passed in comfort, until the want of a written agreement 
involved the landlord and the tenant in legal disputes; 
and during the long period of three years, William Burns 
was " tossing and whirling in the vortex." 

The little chapter of Lochlea includes some important 
passages in the story of Burns ; for there his good and bad 
blossoms began to set with large promise of fruit. Although 
he confesses himself to have been the most ungainly lad in 
the parish, his mind was growing into shape. He was 
familiar with the " Spectator," and he carried a collection 
of songs in all his field-work., poring over them as he drove 
his cart. Slowly, too, the outward man improved, and a 
spreading rumour of his "book-knowledge" made him 
a welcome guest. But his chief fame was of another kind. 
Tarbolton was not less amorous than other country places 
in Scotland, and Bobert became the confidant of the 
parish. He informs us that his curiosity, zeal, and dex«. 
terous boldness recommended him for a comrade in every 
love adventure ; and that the secrets of Tarbolton hearts 
were as gratifying to him as the intrigues of Europe are 
to the statesman. 

In an evil hour Burns turned fiaxdresser, in the small 



BUENS. XXV 

town of Irvine, where lie rented u room at a shilling 
a week. His health and his spirits seem to have been 
much disordered at this time. He speaks of his sleep 
as a little sounder, although the weakness of his nerves 
troubled his whole body at the least anxiety and alarm. 
He despairs of making a figure in the world; "being 
neither formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter 
of the gay;" and when he "glimmered" a little into the 
future, the only prospect was poverty and contempt. In 
the midst of these doubts and fears, the flax business was 
brought to a sudden close ; for while he was giving a wel- 
come carousal to the new year, the shop took fire, and 
Burns found himself among the ashes, and, like a true 
poet, without a sixpence. His moral loss at Ayr had, pro- 
bably, been larger than his commercial; for in a young 
man, whom an American privateer had lately stripped and 
set ashore, he met a companion and a tempter whose 
practice appears to have kept up with his theory. Mean- 
while, blacker shadows gathered round the homestead of 
Lochlea. For two years the strength of the old man had 
been going, and just as the horrors of a jail were full in 
view, a consumption " kindly stepped in" and carried him 
away, February 13, 1784. Robert and Gilbert had made 
some preparation for the support of the family, when their 
father's affairs drew near a crisis, by taking a neighbour- 
ing farm, Mossgiel, which was held in tack, of the Earl of 
Loudon, by that Mr. Gavin Hamilton whose name is last- 
ingly united to the poet's. The farm contained one hundred 
and eighteen acres, and the rent was fixed at ninety pounds. 
We learn the particulars from Gilbert : — 

" It was stocked by the property and individual savings 
^f the whole family, and was a joint concern among us. 
.Every member of the family was allowed ordinary wage3 
for the labour he performed on the farm. My brother's 
allowance and mine was seven pounds per annum 
each. And during the whole time this family concern 
lasted, which was four years, as well as during the pre- 



XXVI BTTBNS. 

ceding period at Lochlea, his expenses never in any one 
year exceeded his slender income. His temperance and 
frugality were everything that could be wished." But 
darker scenes were coming. 

There lived in Mauchline a master stone-mason, James 
Armour, who had a black-eyed daughter, Jean, ranking 
high among the six belles of the village. It fell out on 
a certain day, that the poet's dog ran over the clothes 
which Jean Armour was spreading on the grass, and she 
flung a stone at the trespasser. The old proverb rose to 
the tongue of Burns, and the love-story began. It fills • a 
melancholy page in the lives of the man and the woman. 
They sinned, and they suffered. A meeting of the lovers 
ended in a gift by Burns to Jean of a written promise, 
which Scottish law accepts as legal evidence of an " irf - 
gular " union. The marriage was not to be disclosed until 
the last moment, and when it came, the stone-mason 
showed himself less indulgent than the law. His in- 
dignation was great ; and overpowered by the anger and 
the grief of her father, Jean destroyed the document, or 
permitted him to burn it. Under circumstances so 
afflicting, she became the mother of twins, for the charge 
of whose maintenance security was demanded of Burns. 
James Armour proved to be violent and relentless, with a 
view, it is conjectured, of driving Burns from the country, 
and setting his daughter free. If he had the design, it 
was almost fulfilled. Several Scotchmen were at that 
time engaged as assistant overseers in the West India 
Plantations. The salary was small, and the disagreeable 
nature of the occupation may be imagined. But it offered 
shelter to Burns, and he obtained an appointment in 
Jamaica, engaging himself to Dr. Douglas, of Port Antonio, 
for three years, at a salary of thirty pounds. To pay for his 
passage, he resolved to publish his " Poems." They had 
grown up, silently and sweetly, like the wild-flowers in 
the fields. The Daisy under the Plough — the Mouse 
driven from her nest — the Winter-dirge — the Cotter's 



BURNS. XXVU 

Saturday Night — The Vision — and other pieces, seemed to 
steal upon his fancy, in its warm spring weather, with 
the bloom and freshness of opening life. The Muse had 
walked by his plough, and cheered and illuminated him. 
Even the coal-cart was sometimes hallowed by song. 
LocUea is rich in these poetic remembrances, but Mossgiel 
excels it. Lately, perhaps now, you might see the 
" ingle," and the " spence," with its boarded-floor, and 
the recess-beds so common in Scotland, where he com- 
posed some of his most pathetic and humorous pieces. 
A small deal table was also pointed out. At the beginning 
of April, 1786, Burns sent his " Proposals " to the press 
of John Wilson, in Kilmarnock. In the meantime, he 
underwent a less agreeable form of publication in the 
parish kirk, by the tongue of Mr. Auld. A certificate of 
Bachelordom was the reward of the exposure. On June 
12th, he communicated to a Glasgow acquaintance the 
news of his literary progress : — " You will have heard that 
I am going to commence poet in print ; to-morrow my 
works go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of 
about two hundred pages. It is just the last foolish 
action I intend co do, and then turn a wise man as last as 
possible." His story of the enterprise is extremely in- 
teresting *-rr 

I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power : I 
thought they had merit ; and it was a delicious idea that I should 
be called a clever fellow, even though it should never reach my 
ears— a poor negro driver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospi- 
table clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea 
of myself and of my works as I have at this moment, when the 
public has decided in their favour. It ever was my opinion, that 
the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and religious point 
of view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to their 
imorance of themselves. — To know myself, had been all along 
<ay constant study. I weighed myself alone ; I balanced myself 
^ith others ; I watched every means of information, to see how much 
ground I occupied as a man and as a poet ; I studied assiduously 
Nature's design in my formation — where the lights and shades in 
my character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems 
would meet with some applause ; but, at the worst, the roar of the 



XXY1U BTJBNS. 

Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West 
Indian scenes make ine forget neglect. I threw off six hundred 
copies, of which I had got subscriptions for about three hundred 
and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met 
with from the public ; and besides, I pocketed, all expenses de- 
ducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as 
I was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money to procure 
my passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of 
wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in che first 
ship that was to sail from the Clyde ; for 

Hungry ruin had me in the wind. 

I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under 
all the teiTors of a jail ; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled 
the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last 
farewell of my few friends ; my chest was on the road to Greenock ; 
I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, 
*' The gloomy Night is gathering fast," when a letter from Dr. 
Blacklock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by 
opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. The doctor belonged 
to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not dared to hope. His 
opinion that I would meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for a 
second edition, fired me so much, that away I posted for that city, 
without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction. 
The baneful star, that had so long shed its blasting influence in my 
zenith, for once made a revolution to the nadir ; and a kind Provi- 
dence placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest of men, 
the Earl of Grlencairn. 

The " Poems" appeared in July, 1786, at the price of 
three shillings ; a dignified preface opened the volume : — 

The following trifles are not the production of the poet who, with 
all the advantages of learned art, and, perhaps, amid the elegances 
and idlenesses of upper life, looks down for a rural theme, with an 
eye to Theocritus or Virgil. To the author of this, these, and other 
celebrated names their countrymen are, at least in their original 
language, a fountain shut up, and a booh sealed. Unacquainted 
with the necessary requisites for commencing poet by rule, he sings 
the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in himself and kia 
rustic compeers around him, in his and their native language. 
Though a rhymer from his earliest years, at least from the earliest 
impulses of the softer passions, it was not till very lately that the 
applause, perhaps the partiality, of friendship, wakened his vanity 
so far as to make him think anything of his worth showing ; and 
none of the following works were ever composed with a view to the 
press. To amuse himself with the little creations of his own fancy, 
amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life ; to transcribe the 
various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his 
own breast - t to find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a 



BUEN8. XXIX 

world, aiVays an alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical mind ; — 
these were his motives for courting the Muses, and in these he found 
Poetry to be its own reward. 

Now that he appears in the public character of an author, he 
does it with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming 
tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at 
the thought of being branded as ' ' an impertinent blockhead, ob- 
truding his nonsense on the world ; and, because he can make a 
ihift to jingle a, few doggerel Scotch rhymes together, looking upon 
himself as a poet of no small consequence forsooth !" 

It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shemstone, whose 
divine elegies do honour to our language, our nation, and our 
species, that " humility has depressed many a genius to a hermit, 
but never raised one to fame !" If any critic catches at the word 
genius, the Author tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks 
upon himself as possessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise his 
publishing in the manner he has done would be a manoeuvre below 
the worst character which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give 
him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of 
the poor unfortunate Ferguson, he, with equal unaffected sincerity, 
declares, that even in his highest pulse of vanity, he has not the 
most distant pretensions. These two justly admired Scotch poets 
he has often had in his eye in the following pieces ; but rather with 
a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile imitation. 

To his subscribers the Author returns his most sincere thanks ; 
not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the heart- throbbing 
gratitude of the Bard, conscious how much he is indebted to bene- 
volence and friendship, for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that 
iearest wish of every poetic bosom — to be distinguished. He begs 
his readers, particularly the learned and the polite, who may honour 
him with a perusal, that they will make every allowance for educa- 
tion and circumstances of life ; but if, after a fair, candid, and 
impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of dulness and nonsense, 
let him be done by as he would in that case do by others — let him 
be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 

" The Cotter's Saturday Night" was the gem of the 
collection, and did for the writer what the " Elegy " had 
done for Gray — it made him famous. When Gilpin, in 
1789, published his " Observations on the Highlands/' he 
described the pleasing simplicity of country life, the 
small Erse Bible which was the Highlander's usual 
companion, the mother spinning or knitting, and the 
children standing round her reading God's Book, or re- 
peating the '* Catechism ;" and by way of illustrating his 
description, he quoted the poem of Burns — " a Bard, as he 
cai is himself, from the plough," — and pronounced "the 



XXX BUEKS. 

whole to be equal to any praise." Gilbert gives a touclin,^ 
anecdote of the composition : — 

Robert had frequently remarked to me that he thought there was 
gomething peculiarly venerable in the phrase, "Let us worship 
God," used by a decent sober head of a family introducing family 
worship. To this sentiment of the Author the world is indebted for 
the "Cotter's Saturday Night. " The hint of the plan, and title of 
the poem, were taken from Ferguson's "Farmer's Ingle." "When 
Hobert had not some pleasure in view in which I was not thought 
fit to participate, we used frequently to walk together when the 
weather was favourable on the Sunday afternoons (those precious 
breathing-times to the labouring part of the community), and en- 
joyed inch Sundays as would make one regret to see their number 
abridged. It was in one of these walks that I first had the plea- 
sure of hearing the author repeat the " Cotter's Saturday Night." I 
do not recollect to have read or heard anything by which I was more 
highly electrified. The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eighteenth 
thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through my soul. I mention this to 
you, that you may see what hit the taste of unlettered criticism. 

The edition of the " Poems" was exhausted in a month 
by the subscribers and the public. Wherever the book 
came, it was admired. Farm servants spent their wages 
to get it ; and educated readers turned an eye of interest 
upon the writer. Among these were Dugald Stewart and 
Mrs. Dunlop, who continued, to the end of his life to be 
true and generous friends. A new issue of his "Poems" was 
now suggested to him, as likely to increase the comforts 
of his voyage ; but the Kilmarnock printer required the 
cost of the paper to be advanced, and Burns had no 
money for the purpose, though friends were not unwilling 
to provide it. 

To this period belongs a romantic incident in the 
poet's life : his parting with Mary Campbell, the dairy- 
maid of Colonel Montgomery, and the Highland Mary of 
Poetry. All tradition describes her as a gentle-hearted, 
loving creature, willing to trust her happiness to an elo- 
quent and daring admirer. I apprehend that, in some par- 
ticulars, the biographers of Burns have been warmed by his 
raptures. His own narrative is sufficient for my purpose: 
*■— " After a pretty long trial of the most ardent, reciprocal 
affection, we met, by appointment, on the eecond Sunday of 



F.UBN8. XXXI 

May, in a sequestered spot on the banks of the Ayr, where 
we spent a day in taking a farewell before she should em- 
bark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among 
her friends for our projected change of life. At the close 
of the autumn following, she crossed the sea to meet me at 
Greenock, where she had scarce landed when she was 
seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl 
to her grave in a few days, before I could even learn of her 
illness." The Bible over which the lovers uttered their 
vows, and a tress of Mary's long, shining hair, are still 
preserved. Let me not be deemed unkind to Burns, if I 
remember that while he was thus pledging himself with 
such solemnity of circumstance to a Mary, a Jean was 
rueing the day that she met him in the house of her 
sorrowful parents. 

A circumstance, which his letter has already told, ren- 
dered pecuniary help unnecessary. Burns was acquainted 
with Dr. Laurie, minister of Loudoun, and that gentleman 
sent a copy of the " Poems" to Dr. Blacklock, with a slight 
outline of the Poet's life. The amiable scholar was de- 
lighted by the pathos, the grace, and the humour of the 
volume, and strongly urged the immediate preparation of 
an enlarged impression. The pleasure of the Poet was 
equal to his critic's ; and he exchanged the voyage to 
Jamaica for the road to Edinburgh. He arrived in that 
city November 28, 1786. Dugald Stewart had already 
awakened some interest in his behalf by reading his poems, 
and speaking of his struggles, to several friends, and 
to Henry Mackenzie among the number. We have the 
Professor's sketch of the Ayrshire Ploughman, as he 
appeared in the Scottish metropolis. His dress was plain, 
bat neat. Walter Scott, recalling the vision of his six- 
teenth year, said that he should have taken the poet for a 
very sagacious country farmer of the old school — "the 
douce gudeman who held his own plough!" 

Very surprising must have been the change from the 
playground of Nature to the school of Art. A more striking 



30DQ1 EFENS, 

group of scholars and men of taste might not be found. 
There was the good and blind son of the bricklayer, whom 
Johnson hailed at Sir William Forbes's breakfast-table wit> 
the tender welcome, " Dear Dr. Blacklock, I am glad to 
see you." There was Blair, the beau, the novel-reader, the 
popular preacher, and the vainest man of his time. There 
was Robertson, neither brilliant nor fruitful in talk, but 
pleasant and humorous, and praising the generous claret. 
There was Adam Fergusson, who lived ruddy and vigorous, 
into his ninety-third year. There was Mackenzie, tbe 
gayest of the gay, collecting his rhymes on the edge of 
the grave, and turning out for a coursing-match with 
a white hat, green spectacles, and a dog-whistle round his 
neck. There was Alison, the elegant and the refined. 
There was Monboddo, enunciating his great axiom that 
everything was possible, and contemplating the birth of a 
conversable ourang-outang. But especially eminent and 
beloved above all the band was " the plain, honest, worthy 
man, the Professor," Dugald Stewart, exhibiting to the 
admiration of his rustic friend the blended virtues of 
" Socrates, ]N~athanael, and Shakspeare." One distin- 
guished member of Edinburgh society was absent. Adam 
Smith had just gone to London, when Burns received an in- 
troductory letter. We may imagine the delight with which 
the painter of " The Holy Fair" would have watched the 
Doctor hovering round the sugar-basin, and continually 
parrying off a fresh lump from the bewildered spinster 
#rho presided. In this brave company of philosophers and 
critics, the peasant held up his head. He fought them 
with weapons sharper than their own, and supplied his 
(rant of science, or learning, by a various fancy and a glow 
of language which amazed the scholars, and lifted the 
beautiful Duchess of Gordon off her feet. Nor was Edin- 
burgh less attractive than its inhabitants. Burns surveyed 
it with a poet's eye. Arthur's Seat was a favourite haunt, 
and the cottage smoke, going up into the clear blue sky ot 
morning, awoke in him home -thoughts more tender than 



BUBN8. XXX111 

poetry. But the great city is not always a safe home for 
the moralist — never for a poet. We are assured by one, 
who was darkly stained by its vices, that Burns did not 
escape the corruption of evil companionship. His Edin- 
burgh life took a downward turn from the period 
a-hen he exchanged his share of a garret in Baxter's -close 
md the society of John Eichmoncl, a lawyer's clerk, for 
the more luxurious dwelling of William JSTicol, a teacher 
in the High School — a clever and noisy admirer, who was 
at the same time a scoffer and a drunkard. We cannot 
read this chapter in the story of Burns without remem- 
bering the intemperance and the swagger of Savage. 

At the beginning of April, 1787, the second edition of 
his poems issued from the shop of Creech. Lord Glencairn 
and the Dean of the Faculty had taken him under their 
wing, and the Caledonian Hunt subscribed in a body. To 
his learned acquaintances he had recently added Dr. John 
Moore, formerly a surgeon in Glasgow, afterwards the 
travelling companion of the Duke of Hamilton, and then 
settled in London as a physician. The story of " Zeluco" 
had won a name, and Burns regarded the author with a 
sort of mysterious reverence. In a letter to Moore, 
April 23, 1787, he gives his view of a town life on its 
learned side : — " I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten 
days or a fortnight. I shall return to my rural shades, in 
all likelihood never more to quit them. I have formed 
many intimacies and friendships here ; but I am afraid 
they are all of too tender a construction to bear carriage a 
hundred and fifty miles." 

He had long cherished the desire of making leisurely 
pilgrimages to the battle-fields, the romantic rivers, and 
the ruined castles of his country; and his longing was at 
last in some measure to be gratified in the season most dear 
to his fancy — 

When rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 

On the 6th of that month, having one companion, Mr 

9 



XXX1T BUENS. 

Robert Ainslie, he made a hasty excursion into the 

southern districts, in which Beattie discovered the Arcadia 
of Scotland, being distinguished by green hills, clear 
flowing streams, scattered or clustering trees, and espe- 
cially by its songs, " sweetly expressive of love and tender- 
ness, and the other emotions suited to the tranquillity of 
pastoral life." 

In three weeks, Burns visited the most interesting scenes. 
At Jedburgh, where orchards and gardens were mingled 
with the ruins of a stately cathedral, he received the 
freedom of the borough j the glorious Melrose and the old 
abbey of Dry burgh affected him greatly, and he carried 
away in his memory the sound and the colour of 

Ettrick banks now roaring red. 

From Arcadia, he passed into Northumberland, and 
visited the noble castle of the duke, and the hermitage of 
Warkworth. 

Burns returned toMossgiel in June, (8th,) 1787, and his 
biographers have noticed the affecting circumstances under 
which he revisited his home. Several months were gone 
since he quitted it, a poor and desperate man ; he came 
back enriched and honoured; and, in the affectionate 
welcome of his kindred, he might discover a recompence 
for the glare and the flattery which he had left. He did 
not, however, long continue under the old roof, but made 
a fresh expedition into the Highlands, and rejoined his 
family in July. August found him again in Edinburgh, 
arranging a third tour with Mr. Adair, of Harrowgate, to 
whom we owe a slight sketch of the journey:— 

Burns and I left Edinburgh together in August, 1787. "We rode 
by Linlithgow and Carron, to Stirling. We visited the iron- work* 
at Carron, with which the poet was forcibly struck. The resem- 
blance between that place, and its inhabitants, to the cave of Cyclops, 
which must have occurred to every classical visitor, presented itself 
to Burns. At Stirling the prospects from the castle strongly in- 
terested him ; in a former visit to which, his national feelings had 
been powerfully excited by the ruinous and rootless state of the hall 
in which the Scottish Parliaments had frequeotly been held Hia 



BURNS. XXKT 

indignation had vented itself in some imprudent, but not unpoetical 
lines, which had given much offence, and which he took this oppor- 
tunity of erasing, by breaking the pane of the window at the inn 
on which they were written. 

At Stirling we met with a company of travellers from Edinburgh, 
among whom was a character in many respects congenial with that 
of Burns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers of the High Grammar 
School at Edinburgh : the same wit and power of conversation ; the 
same fondness for convivial society, and thoughtlessness of to- 
morrow, characterised both. Jacobitical principles in politics were 
common to both of them ; and these have been suspected, since the 
Revolution of France, to have given place in each, to opinions appa- 
rently opposite. I regret that I have preserved no memorabilia of 
their conversation, either on this or on other occasions, when I 
happened to meet them together. Many songs were sung ; which I 
mention for the sake of observing, that when Burns was called on 
in his turn, he was accustomed, instead of singing, to recite one or 
other of his own shorter poems, with a tone and emphasis which, 
though not correct or harmonious, were impressive and pathetic. 
This he did on the present occasion. 

From Stirling we went next morning through the romantic and 
fertile vale of Devon to Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, then 
inhabited by Mrs. Hamilton, with the younger part of whose family 
Burns had been previously acquainted. He introduced me to the 
family, and there was formed my first acquaintance with Mrs. 
Hamilton's eldest daughter, to whom I have been married for nine 
years. Thus was I indebted to Burns for a connexion from which 
I have derived, and expect further to derive, much happiness. 

During a residence of about ten days at Harvieston, we made ex- 
cursions to visit various parts of the surrounding scenery, inferior 
to none in Scotland, in beauty, sublimity, and romantic interest ; 
particularly Castle Campbell, the ancient seat of the family of 
Argyle ; and the famous cataract of the Devon, called the "Cauldron 
Linn;" and the "Rumbling Bridge," a single broad arch, thrown 
by the Dovil, if tradition is to be believed, across the river, at 
about the height of a hundred feet above its bed. I am surprised 
that none of these scenes should have called forth an exertion of 
Burns's muse. But I doubt if he had much taste for the pic- 
turesque. I well remember, that the ladies at Harvieston, who ac- 
companied us on this jaunt, expressed their disappointment at his 
not expressing, in more glowing and fervid language, his impressions 
of the " Cauldron Linn" scene, certainly highly sublime, and some- 
what horrible. 

A visit to Mrs. Bruce of Clackmannan, a lady above ninety, the 
lineal descendant of that race which gave the Scottish throne its 
brightest ornament, interested his feelings more powerfully. This 
venerable dame, with characteristical dignity, informed me, on my 
observing that I believed she was descended from the family of 
Robert Bruce, that Robert Bruce was sprung from her family. 
Though almost deprived of speech by a paralytic affection, she 

c2 



XXXVI BURNS. 

preserved her hospitality and urbanity. STie was in possession of 
the hero's helmet and two-handed sword, with which she conferred 
on Burns and myself the honour of knighthood, remarking, that 

she had a better right to confer that title than some people 

You will of course conclude that the old lady's political tenets were 
as Jacobitical as the poet's, — a conformity which contributed not a 
little to the cordiality of our reception and entertainment. She 
gave as her first toast after dinner, Awa, Uncos, or, Away with the 
Strangers. — "Who those strangers were, you will readily understand. 
Mrs. A. corrects me by saying it should be Hooi, or Hoohi uncos* 
a sound used by shepherds to direct their dogs to drive away ths 
sheep . 

We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on the shore of Lochleven) 
and Queensferry. I am inclined to think Burns knew nothing of 
pour Michael Bruce, who was then alive at Kinross, or had died 
there a short while before. A meeting between the bards, or a 
visit to the deserted cottage and early grave of poor Bruce would 
have been highly interesting. 

At Dunfermline we visited the ruined abbey, and the abbey church, 
new consecrated to Presbyterian worship. Here I mounted the 
cutty stool, or stool of repentance, while Burns from the pulpii 
addressed to me a ludicrous reproof and exhortation, parodied from 
that which had been delivered to himself in Ayrshire, where he had, 
as he assured me, once been one of seven who mounted the seat of 
shame together. 

In the churchyard, two broad flagstones marked the grave of 
Robert Bruce, for whose memory Burns had more than common 
feneration. He knelt and kissed the stone with sacred fervour, 
and heartily (suus ut mos erat) execrated the worse than Gothic 
neglect of the first of Scottish heroes. 

He had no sooner ended his third pilgrimage, than he 
began another, and a more extensive, in the company of 
his friend Mr. Nicol. The travellers, leaving Edinburgh, 
August 25, 1787, pursued their way into the heart of the 
Highlands, and, stretching northward, about ten miles 
beyond Inverness, took an easterly course over the island, 
and returned by the shore of the German Sea to Edin- 
burgh. Burns anticipated and found much entertainment 
in the original humour of his companion. But the ill 
qualities of JSTicol tarnished the good. His manners wera 
coarser than his person, and the " strong in-kneed sort ofc 
a soul," which his friend attributed to him, seems to have 
gained its vigour by the loss of gentleness, for his temper 
was fierce and ungoverned. 



BTJKNS. XXXVll 

But to Burns the tour brought pleasant fruit. Athole 
House was a cherished remembrance. The gloom of 
evening hung over the landscape, when Mr. Walker, 
whom he had known at Edinburgh, conducted him through 
the grounds, and witnessed the tender enthusiasm with 
which he gazed on the scenery. " We rested," the sister of 
Wordsworth writes, " upon the heather seat which Burns 
was so loth to quit that moonlight evening when he first 
went to Blair Castle ; and I had a pleasure in thinking 
that he had been under the same shelter, and viewed the 
little waterfall opposite with some of the happy and pure 
feelings of his better mind." 

Within- doors, the " fine family piece" was not less 
charming. To Gilbert he sent a letter from Edinburgh, 
September 16, 1787. 

I arrived here safe yesterday evening, after a tour of twenty-two 
days, and travelling near six hundred miles, windings included. 
My farthest stretch was about ten miles beyond Inverness. I went 
through the heart of the Highlands, by Crieff, Taymouth, the 
famous seat of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, among cascades 
and druidical circles of stones to D'unkeld, a seat of the Duke of 
Athole ; thence cross Tay, and up one of his tributary streams to 
Blair of Athole, another of the Duke's seats, where I had the 
honour of spending nearly two days with his Grace and family ; 
thence many miles through a wild country, among cliffs grey with 
eternal snows, and gloomy savage glens, till I crossed Spey and 
went down the stream through Strathspey, so famous in Scottish 
music, Badenoch, &c, till I reached Grant Castle, where I spent 
half a day with Sir James Grant and family ; and then crossed the 
country for Fort George, but called by the way at Cawdor, the 
ancient seat of Macbeth ; there I saw the identical bed in which, 
tradition says, King Duncan was murdered : lastly, from Fort 
George to Inverness. 

I returned by the coast, through Nairn, Forres, and so on, to 
Aberdeen ; thence to Stonehive, where James Burns, from Mon- 
trose, met me by appointment. I spent two days among our rela- 
tions, and found our aunts, Jean and Isabel, still alive, and hale 
old women. John Caird, though born the same year with our 
father, walks as vigorously as I can ; they have had several letters 
from his son in New York. William Brand is likewise a stout old 
fellow : but further particulars I delay till I see you, which v'll be 
in two or three weeks. The rest of my stages are not wor h re- 
hearsing : warm as I was fom Ossian's country, where I had seen 
his very grave, what cared 1 for fishing towns or fertile carses ? I 



xxxviii BTJRXS. 

fdept at the famous Brodie of Brodie's one night, and dined at 
Gordon Castle next day with the Duke, Duchess, and family. I 
am thinking to cause my old mare to meet me, by means, of John 
Ronald, at Glasgow ; but you shall hear farther from me before I 
leave Edinburgh. My duty, and many compliments from the north, 
to my mother, and my brotherly compliments to the rest. I have 
been trying for a berth for William, but am not likely to be suc- 
*essf uL — Farewell. 



Burns was again in Edinburgh during the winter of 

1787. He is then supposed to have begun his acquaintance 
with the lady whom he celebrated under the title of 
Clarinda. Her real name was M'Lehose, the wife of a 
gentleman in the "West Indies, and then residing with her 
children in Edinburgh. The letters which Burns addressed 
to her, in the pastoral character of Sylvander, are suffi- 
ciently amorous and absurd ; but a devotee, like Clarinda, 
required no common homage. She declared that the 
admiration of fourscore years would not pay her debt of 
gratitude. Time dealt generously with her in old age ; she 
lived near the Calton Hill, where Mr. Howitt and his 
wife visited her, and witnessed a most amusing scene. 
Clarinda invited her guests to drink out of the glasses 
which Sylvander had presented, and took them from the 
cupboard, and rang for the servant to bring wine. An 
aged woman answered the call, and hearing that the stran- 
gers " were to drink out of the glasses which stood ready 
on the table, she gave a look as if sacrilege were going to 
be committed, took up the glasses without a word, re- 
placed them in the cupboard, locking them up, and 
brought in three ordinary glasses. It was in vain for 

Mrs. M'Lehose to remonstrate ; the old and self-willed 
servant went away without deigning a reply, with the 
key in her pocket." 

The settlement of his accounts with Creech, February, 

1788, placed more than five hundred pounds in the hands 
of Burns. He made a noble use of part of the money. 

His owd account to Dr. Moore — January 4, 1789 — is 
simple and pleasing : "I have a younger brother, who 






BURNS. XXXIX 

supports my aged mother ; another still younger brother, 
and three sisters, in a farm. On my last return from 
Edinburgh, it cost me about £180 to save them from ruin. 
"Not that I have lost so much — I only interposed between 
my brother and his impending fate by the loan of so much. 
I give myself no airs on this, for it was mere selfishness on 
my part. I was conscious that the wrong scale of the 
balance was pretty heavily charged, and I thought that 
throwing a little filial and fraternal affection into the scale 
in my favour, might help to smooth matters at the grand 
reckoning." With the balance of his profits he entered 
upon a farm, belonging to Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton. 
Ellisland was pleasantly situated on the banks of the Nith, 
six miles from Dumfries. The vale of the JSTith sweep* 
just below the house, and from the windows the river is 
seen flowing with its swift, dark current, broad as the 
Thames at Hampton Court. Burns began his new life at 
Whitsuntide, 1788, having previously gone through the 
ceremony of a justice-of-peace marriage with Jean Armour, 
in the office of his friend Gavin Hamilton. He considered 
the head of a wife to be immaterial, in comparison of her 
heart. He spoke from experience. His Jean had a hand- 
some figure, a sweet temper, and reckoned her husband 
the finest genius in the world. Her acquaintance with 
prose and verse was limited to the Bible and the Psalms ; 
but she had studied a certain collection of Scottish songs, 
and warbled many with a delicious wood-note. In later 
life, the Ettrick Shepherd frequently saw Mrs. Burns, in 
the old church of Dumfries, and spoke of her as a brunette, 
with fine eyes. 

A modern poet has said finely, — 

And there were many strange and sudden lights 
Beckoned him towards them ; they were wrecking lights : 
But he shunned these, and righted when she rose, 
Moon of his life, that ebbed and flowed with her ! 

Alas! that we cannot apply the words to Burns. HLs 
welded life met with difficulties at the beginning. The 



Jtl BUEN8. 

house of Ellisland was a miserable hovel, open to wind and 
rain, and giving to the occupant the choice of being 
drenched or suffocated. Jean could not come under such 
a roof, and she remained with the poet's family. But 
forty miles make a wide gap between husband and wife. 
Burns set himself with all speed to build a better dwelling, 
and the summer found him busy in the field. His resolu 
tions were excellent. " I have all along, hitherto in the 
warfare of life, been bred to arms among the light horse— 
the piquet guards of fancy, a kind of hussars and high- 
landers of the brain ; but I am firmly resolved to sell out 
of these giddy battalions, who have no ideas of a battle, but 
fighting the foe, or of a siege, but storming the town. Cost 
what it will, I am determined to buy in among the grave 
squadrons of heavy- armed thought, or the artillery corps of 
plodding contrivance." In neither of these regiments did 
he ever get a commission. He brought Jean home in 
November, and for the first time in his life had the oppor- 
tunity of realising his own picture : — 

To make a happy fire-side clime, 

To weans and wife — 
That's the true pathos, and sublime 

Of human life. 

But low spirits dulled his joys. He calls himself such a 
coward in the world, and so tired of the service, that the 
desire of his heart was " to lie down in bis mother's lap 
and be at peace." We hear him groaning under the 
miseries of a diseased nervous system, and of headaches 
three weeks in duration. 

It may be feared that the mirth of the Edinburgh tables 
often rung in his ears. Dr. Moore had mentioned the 
friendliness of husbandry to fancy, while he wished for 
him the prosperous union of the farmer and the poet. But 
Burns had neither Maecenas for a landlord, nor Horace 
for a neighbour. He gives a characteristic sketch of his 
life at "the very elbow" of existence. "The only 
tilings," he told Mr. Bemjo, the engraver, " that are to be 






BURNS. Xli 

found in this country in any degree of perfection are 
stupidity and canting." Prose, he said, they only knew in 
graces and sermons, which they valued, like plaiding webs, 
by the ell ; while a poet and a rhinoceros suggested ideas 
equally distinct and agreeable. It was not always dark in 
Ellisland. His first winter glided happily by, and golden 
days of the heart and the fancy often shone, when the 
father rejoiced in the crown of the poet. In this farm, by 
the river side, he composed his noblest lyric, " To Mary in 
Heaven ;" and there, too, the fat and festive Grose came 
to visit him, and heard of the wonderful jump of Cutty 
Sark and the magnificent terrors of Tarn. 

Burns had made a bad choice of a farm ; but a momen- 
tary sunlight broke over it, and the crops rewarded his 
industry and care. An agricultural friend once warned 
him that however situation, soil, and custom might vary, 
Parmer Attention would be prosperous everywhere. And 
it is conceivable that even from Ellisland he might have 
come in joy, bringing sheaves. But Farmer Attention 
was a stranger under that roof — more familiar to the 
wedding feast and the harvest dance. The appointment 
of Burns to the Excise came, to complete the ruin of the 
husbandman. He owed it to the kindness of a surgeon 
(Mr. Wood), who got his name placed on the list of candi- 
dates. His satisfaction is abundantly shown in his letters. 
" I thought," he wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, " five-and-thirty 
pounds a year was no bad dernier ressort for a poor poet, 
if fortune, in her jade tricks, should kick him down from 
the little eminence to which she had lately helped him up. 8 ' 
To Miss Chalmers he placed his new office in the same pru- 
dential light. " I do not find my farm that pennyworth I 
was taught to expect ; but I believe in time it may be a 
saving bargain. To save me from that horrid situation of 
at any time going down in a losing bargain of a farm 
to misery, I have taken my Excise instructions, and have 
my commission in my pocket for any emergency of 
fortune." And to another lady he remarked— " The 



xlii BUENS. 

question is not at what, door of Fortune's palace shall wo 
enter in ? but, What doors does she open to us ?" To 
his friend Ainslie he talked in high spirits : — " I do not 
know if I have informed you that I am now appointed to 
an excise division, in the middle of which my house and 
farm lie. In this I was extremely lucky, without ever 
having been an expectant, as they call their journey- 
man exciseman, I was directly planted down, to all intents 
and purposes, an officer of excise. Fifty pounds a year for 
life, and a provision for widows and orphans, you will 
allow, is no bad settlement for a poet." 

Before the close of 1791, Burns relinquished his farm, 
and being placed, with a salary of seventy pounds, in the 
Dumfries department of Excise, he removed his family to 
that town. The situation was not promising. The house 
stood in a narrow street, swarming with tramps ; and the 
worthy sister of a great poet describes its look in the 
autumn of 1S03 : — " It has a mean appearance, white- 
washed, dirty about the doors, as all Scotch houses are ; 
the parlour walls were washed with blue wash ; on one side 
of the fire was a mahogany desk, opposite the window a 
clock, and over the desk a print from the " Cotter's Satur- 
day Xight." The house was cleanly and neat in the in- 
side ; the stairs of stone scoured white, the kitchen on the 
right hand of the passage, the parlour on the left." 

The biographers of Burns concur in putting his Dum- 
fries life into shadow. "I am just risen," are his own sad 
words — "from a two-hours' bout after supper, with silly, 
or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in common with 
me but the port." Among companions like these he had 
long been in the habit — to adopt his striking phrase — of 
dividing large slices of his constitution ; but the biggest 
6lices were given at Dumfries. Many families from the 
south of Scotland chose that town for their winter resi- 
dence ; and we are told that it abounded in " stately Tory- 
ism," which only served to embitter and aggravate the 
hostility of the Poet. The freedom of his manners was, at 



buens. xliii 

least, equalled by that of his tongue, and his epigrams fell 
thick and fast. One critic is sharp upon the " gentry," 
because they "cut" Burns. The " cutting" is certain. 
A friend informed Mr. Lockhart, that upon a fine summer 
evening he saw the poet walking alone on the shady side 
of the principal street, while the opposite part was gay 
with successive groups of gentlemen and ladies, all drawn 
together for the festivities of the night, not one of whom 
appeared willing to recognise him. Assuredly he gave 
ample opportunity to evil- speakers. A single instance will 
be sufficient. The coasts of Galloway and Ayrshire were 
the haunts of smugglers, whom it was the especial duty 
of the revenue officers to watch and intercept. In the 
February of 1792, an armed brig appearing in the Solway 
Frith, and getting into shallow water, a party of dra- 
goons was brought down, and, led by Burns, dashed up 
to the brig and captured her. At the public sale of the 
vessel, he bought four guns, which he sent with a flatter- 
ing assurance of his esteem to the French Convention. 
The gift was stopped at Dover, but the folly of the excise- 
man reached the ears of the Board, by whom he was 
naturally regarded as a person disaffected and dangerous. 
Scared of a sudden by the vision of a helpless wife, and 
children turned adrift into the world, Burns opened his 
grief to Mr. Graham, and found the protection which he 
asked. The displeasure of the Board passed away in a mild 
and merited censure. Nor is there any reason to suppose 
that his prospects of promotion were blighted by the im- 
prudence and wilfulness of his conduct. If he became 
more circumspect in his political walk, the watchfulness 
did not reach his morals. His most zealous apologists 
only venture to plead that his errors were occasional ; and 
witnesses are called to speak of his early rising, his punc- 
tuality, and his lessons to his children. What is such 
testimony worth? That life must be utterly reprobate, 
of which sin is the narrative, not the episode. In general, 
the phrenzy of vice has lucid intervals. Kit Smart was not 



Xliv BURNS. 

wheeled Lome in the barrow on every night. There is 
enough of the wild beast in sin to make it drowsy when it 
is fed. 

It is the fashion to rebuke any censure of Burns by a 
reference to passages in which he confesses his guilt, and 
implores the pity of his brethren. Let the appeal be wel- 
comed. He has left outpourings of a smitten heart, never 
to be read without sympathy, nor to be remembered ex- 
cept with prayer. But of what avail is sorrow which bears 
no fruit ? Crabbe is believed to have painted Burns in 
the portrait of Edward Shore : — 

GrieVd, but not contrite was his heart ; oppress' d, 

Not broken ; not converted, but distress'd ; 

He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee ; 

He wanted light the cause of ill to see ; 

To learn how frail is man, how humble then should be. 

The picture is a likeness. I do not doubt that in the 
festival of his riot, or his guilt, the great soul of this 
wonderful man was shaken by gusts of penitence and 
fear. A hand on the wall terrified him with the balance ; 
and dreadfully the scales went down before his accusing 
eyes. Yery awful is his confession to a friend : — " Even 
in the hour of social mirth, my gaiety is the madness of 
an intoxicated criminal under the hands of the execu- 
tioner." In such seasons the united Presbytery had no 
preacher so eloquent, no prayers so pathetic. The Ettrick 
Shepherd frequently heard one Master Saunders Proud- 
foot relate a story. There had been a merrymaking at 
Thornhiil Fair, and wine and punch disappeared with 
more than ordinary swiftness. " By degrees the hale o* 
the chaps slippit away ane after another. But what I 
fear was his warst fault — he couldna leave the bowl, and I 
was determined not to leave him ; sae we sat on, an' sat on, 
till after midnight, and then were shown into a bedroom, 
an' our bowl an' glasses wi' us. I saw before this time 
that Burns had gotten rather jnair than enough, an' in 
order to gar him gi' over, I pretended to be drunk, an' lay 
down on ane o' the beds with my claes on. Burns seemed 



BUENS. XlV 

Very ill pleased when I left him, an' looked round and 
round him as rather disappointed ; but he couldna drink 
by himself, and if he took ae ^glass after I left him that 
was a'. I watched him weel, an' he grew exceedingly im- 
patient, an' then throwing himsel' on his knees, with his 
face leaning on his arms, which were across the chair, he 
began to pray, and by degrees he got into such a fervent 
supplication for mercy and forgiveness for all his trans- 
gressions, that it was awfu', it was dreadfu' to hear him. 
It made sic an impression on me, that I crept quietly 
owre the bed, out o' his kennin, and kneeled down beside 
him. He confessed himself to be the chief o' sinners, with 
- tears of agony ; and siccan fervour o' eloquence I never 
heard frae the lips o' man. It was awesome to hear him. 
I was even greetin' mysel', although it's no little that gars 
auld Sandy cry." 

I rejoice in believing the heart of Burns to have been 
always true. A tender father he surely was. He revered 
Virtue when he outraged her. The little hands of his 
children were familiar to his neck in all their " flichterin* 
noise an' glee ;" and no husband, in his calmer hours, ever 
felt more deeply the dear associations of the 

Wee bit ingle, "blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile. 

The wife of Burns had much to forgive, and she forgave 
it, in life and in death. Very touching is the anecdote 
which Hogg tells of Jean Burns the widow. " Na, na, 
poor fellow, his complaints were a' of himsel'. He never 
complained either of the bairns or me ; he never said a 
niisbehadden word to me a* the days of his life." We 
have evidence, in the poetry which Burns wrote at Dum- 
fries, that the brighter life within him was continually 
throwing sunshine into the outward cloud. And a fortu- 
nate circumstance cherished the flame. Mr. George 
Thompson, of Edinburgh, had formed a plan of collecting 
original Scotch airs for the voice, accompanied by words. 
He was a man of cultivated taste, fond of painting, and 



Xlvi BUENS. 

able to bear liis part in a violin quartette of Pleyel. The 
musical assistance lie had secured, but he wanted the 
poetical. His hopes turned to the author of" The Cotter's 
Saturday Night," and in September, 1792, he stated his 
wishes to Burns, who on the 16th of the same month 
answered the application with a frank and cordial enthu- 
siasm. Still further to brighten the prospect, Beattie 
promised an Essay on the National Music. Burns kept 
his word, and found his pleasure in his work. He assured 
Thompson, in the April of the next year, that the business 
of composing had added to his enjoyments, and that 
ballad-making was become as completely his " hobby- 
horse as ever fortification was Uncle Toby's." His antici- 
pations of success, too, were largely fulfilled ; for in this 
race he took the right side of the winning-post. By the 
general verdict of readers, the sixty songs, which he wrote 
for the collection of Thompson, are pronounced to be the 
most beautiful and refined of his works. The " Bannock- 
burn" was a blast upon a trumpet which he blew too seldom. 
But the evening lights begin to melt around us, and the 
dark is coming. 

The glimpses which the poet gives of himself are 
in the highest degree mournful : Regret — Remorse — 
Shame, dog his steps and bay at his heels ; he apolo- 
gises to a lady for some festive ill -behaviour, by writ- 
ing a letter "from the dead:" his helpless little folks 
drive sleep from his pillow ; his old friends would not 
know him. With every month the nervous misery in- 
creases , and his feelings, at times, are only to be envied 
by " a reprobate spirit listening to the sentence that 
dooms it to perdition." Except in the letters of Cowper, I 
remember no self-upbraid ings more dreadful or pathetic. 
The storm deepened. He had hardly buried his sweet 
little girl, when a rheumatic fever of the severest kind 
bound him to his bed. All these things were against him. 
To James Johnson he wrote: — " This protracting, slow, 
consuming illness which hangs over me will, I doubt 



bcens. xlvii 

much, arrest my sun before he has well reached his 
middle career, and will turn over the poet to far more 
important concerns than studying the brilliancy of wit or 
the pathos of sentiment. However, hope is the cordial of 
the human heart, and I endeavour to cherish it as well as 
I can." The new year found him making feeble efforts 
to crawl across his room. But no suffering could teach 
prudence to Burns. The firstfruits of his strength were 
given to a tavern dinner, prolonged into the late morning. 
Returning home, he sunk on the snow and slept. The 
Did enemy came in his sleep, and he awoke with the 
torments of rheumatism, renewed and sharpened. Pale, 
emaciated, and wanting a hand to help him from his chair, 
he complained of "spirits fled — fled!" One faint hope 
remained — it was the shadow of a shp.de : sea-bathing 
might restore him. In order to obtain it, he was removed 
to Brow, a village on the Solway Frith,- and there hia 
pains were slightly relieved. But the fire was still burn- 
ing. He returned to Dumfries on the 18th of July, 1796, 
wasted in body and face, and hardly able to stand. Dr. 
Maxwell, who attended him, communicated the par- 
ticulars of his closing hours to Currie : — A tremor per- 
vaded his frame ; his tongue was parched, and his mind 
sunk into delirium when not roused by conversation. On 
the second and third day the fever increased, and his 
strength diminished. Upon the fourth day the cord waa 
loosed, and the spirit took its flight. 

So died Robert Burns, the most remarkable person of 
that age ; alike gifted and wretched ; the glory and the 
shame of literature. Can the tale be more fittingly ended, 
or moralized, than by the last words of a Scottish minstrel 
of wider renown, and who did not die in a noisy street, but 
in the splendid home which his genius had erected. The 
September afternoon was calm and sunny, and the Tweed, 
rippling over its pebbles, sounded through the open win- 
dow, when the expiring poet whispered to a friend by hia 
bed, "I may have but a minute to speak to you, — My 



Xlvm BtTTCNS. 

dear, be a good man — be virtuous, be religious. Nothing 
else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here." 

Men forgive much to the dead, and round the grave of 
Burns nothing was remembered but the light that had 
been quenched. It went down in stormy splendour 
among clouds and darkness, but the survivors thought 
only of the full and glowing orb, and the beauty which it 
had left for ever to illuminate the streams and fields of 
Scotland. He was buried, July 26th, with military 
honours, as belonging to the Dumfries Volunteers, and a 
great multitude followed him. The sun shone brightly all 
the day, and while the earth " was heaped up, and the 
green sod was laid over him, the crowd stood gazing for 
some minutes' space, and then melted silently away." 

Few faces are more familiar to poetical readers than the 
broad, massive, earnest countenance of Burns. A plain- 
spoken and rough acquaintance said that he was a good- 
booking, fine fellow, " rather black an' ill-coloured ;" and 
Professor Walker recognized the weather-beaten features 
of a master of a trading vessel. His black hair, slightly 
sprinkled with grey, was spread over his forehead, and 
suited the large dark eye, which really glowed under the 
impulse of pleasure or anger. " I have seen," wrote 
Scott, " the most distinguished men of my time ; and I 
never saw such another eye in a human head." His 
figure was talL — nearly five feet ten inches, — but an un- 
graceful stoop diminished his height to the observer. 
Like many poets, he was not captivated by science, or 
skill, in music. An old strathspey awoke exquisite 
pleasure, and " Eothemurche's Rant" put him in raptures. 
In this feeling he resembled Scott, who was melted by the 
simplest tune, while a complicated harmony seemed to bf» 
a babble of sounds. But no ear was wakefuller than that 
of Burns to every tone of Nature : her sigh, her murmur, 
her breath of love ; the rustle of the copse, the wind 
the branches, the whistle of the curlew, the cadence 
plovers, the moan of the river sedge, — each sound passed 



BUENS. Xlljf 

over his mind like a cunning finger upon a harp, and left 
him soothed, inflamed, enamoured, or devout. 

His literary taste was instinctively pure and refined. 
Virgil charmed him by rural pictures and exquisite grace, 
filling his mind " with a thousand fancies of emulation," 
and, at the same time, reminding him of a Shetland pony 
by the side of a racer starting for the plate. His judg- 
ment of English poetry was chaste and true. Tope, 
Dryden, Collins, Gray, Thomson, and Beattie were 
especially dear. I think that he never read much of 
Spenser,- but Milton he revered. He hailed " the glorious 
poem, 'The Task,' " and admired the water-colour drawings 
of Hurdis. In prose he did not show so exact a judgment ; 
for while he loved the sweet, serious morals of Addison, he 
suffered himself to be dazzled and beguiled by the rant 
of Ossian, and the pantomime of Sterne. Nor may I 
forget the "Meditations" of Hervey, which have long been 
among the popular reading of Scotland. 

Of his personal character, the key was pride, often 
manifesting itself in arrogance and injustice. He dines 
with Lord Glencairn, who has one other guest, a man 
of rank, to whom he shows becoming attention. The 
blood of the poet boils against the " blockhead," and he 
is on the point of " throwing down his gage of contemp- 
tuous defiance," for " Dunderpate " to take up. The 
incident recals the pleasant story of Selden : — " We 
measure the excellency of other men by some excellency 
which we conceive to be in ourselves. Nash, a poet (poor 
enough, as poets used to be) seeing an alderman with the 
gold chain upon his great horse, said to one of his com- 
panions, " Do you see yon fellow, how goodly, how big 
he looks ? Why, that fellow cannot make a blank verse." 
" Dunderpate" was probably a usefuller member of 
society than Burns. Such passages suggest a comparison 
with the American Cooper, shaking the dust off his feet, 
because an infirm nobleman entered a drawing-room 
before him. The temper of Burns occasionally broke into 

d 



I BUENS. 

open rndeness and insult. A lady asked Mm if lie had 
nothing to say of a fine scene before them. " Nothing, 
madam," was his reply, while his eye glanced to the 
leader of the party, " for an ass is braying over it." 

The politics of Burns took the part of his fancy, 
his friendship, or his pique. Scott, enclosing a few 
letters to j\Xr. Lockl^rt, remarked — " In one of them (to 
the singular old curmudgeon, Lady Winifred Constable) 
he plays high Jacobite, and on that account it is curious ; 
though I imagine, his Jacobitism, like my own, belonged 
to the fancy rather than to the reason." There is no need 
of conjecture. Burns acknowledges that his "Jacobitism 
was merely by way of vive la bagatelle.' 1 

Of his religious opinions, a letter to Mrs. Dunlop (June 
21, 1789), gives a full and interesting account : — 

I have just heard give a sermon. He is a man famous 

for his benevolence, and I revere him; bnt from such ideas 
of my Creator, good Lord deliver me ! Religion, my honoured 
friend, is surely a simple business, as it equally concerns the igno- 
rant and the learned, the poor and the rich. That there is an 
incomprehensibly great Being, to whom I owe my existence, and 
that he must be intimately acquainted with the operations and pro- 
gress of the internal machinery, and consequent outward deport- 
ment of this creature which he has made, — these are, I think, self- 
evident propositions. That there is a real and eternal distinction 
between virtue and vice, and consequently that I am an account- 
able creature — that from the seeming nature of the human mind, 
as well as from the evident imperfection, nay, positive injustice, 
in the administration of affairs, both in the natural and moral 
worlds, there must be a retributive scene of existence beyond the 
grave, — must, I think, be allowed by every one who will give him- 
self a moment's reflection. I will go farther, and affirm, that from 
the sublimity, excellence, and purity of his doctrine and precepts, 
unparalleled by all the aggregated wisdom and learning of many pre- 
ceding ages, though, to appearance, he himself was the obscurest 
and most illiterate of our species, therefore, Jesus Christ was from 

God. 

******* 

\Hiatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others, 
this is my criterion of goodness ; and whatever injures society at 
large, or any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity. 

" 1 hate," he said, upon another occasion, " the very 
idea of a controversial divinity ; I despise the superstition 



BURNS. li 

of a fanatic : but I love the religion of a man." His lines 
had not fallen in pleasant places. Controversy was ram- 
pant; and the truth, if truth it were, was often told 
with the tongue of a viper. The religion of the heart 
he seldom found. Born and brought up a Presbyterian, 
the Gospel came to him in the roar of black Russell and 
the invectives of Father Auld. In no dress could the 
creed look fair or engaging. A man of -taste, in a kirk, 
has a feeling of being snowed up in an unfurnished house, 
without a fire. A chill strikes him from the cold building 
and the colder worship. In one of the poet's journals, 
we hear him pouring out his intense disgust : — " What a 
poor, pimping business is a Presbyterian place of wor- 
ship : dirty, narrow, squalid, stuck in a corner of old 
Popish grandeur, such as Linlithgow, and much more, Mel- 
rose." His greatest countrymen have shared his dislike: 
Byron remembered the fiery Calvinism of his boyhood 
with a sense of personal injury ; the heart of Scott yearned 
for that nobler and purer ritual which has breathed into its 
prayers the devotion and the language of the Apostles ; 
and the sentiments of Jeffrey are known to have been of 
the same kind. 

Presbyterianism in Burns's time was coarser and fiercer 
than in ours. Vulgar in attire, wrathful in look, menacing 
in speech, — it combined in its visage the most repulsive 
features of the faith. JNor had it always inward virtue 
to atone for the outward offence. The Elders frequently 
showed the curiosity of the Inquisition; and in some 
of the Ministers might be seen the tyranny of the cowl, 
without the romance. 

Wordsworth expressed his regret that, instead of writing 
poems like " The Holy Pair," in which the religious services 
of his country are treated with levity and scorn, Burns did 
not employ his genius in exhibiting religion under the 
serious and affecting aspect which it so frequently takes. 
And Jeffrey paints a delightful sketch of a Highland 
Sacrament, with its Gaelic sermon preached out of tent* 

<*2 



la. BUBNS. 

to picturesque crowds in the open air, grouped on rocks 
by the glittering sea, in the mountain bays of a long- 
withdrawing loch. But the vulgar and rabid fanaticism, 
by which the poet was surrounded, had taken out of Reli- 
gion the beauty and the love. Her clothing was not "of 
wrought gold," and she never appeared in raiment of 
needle-work, nor in the company of beautiful attendants. 

Perhaps in no man of his age would the religious life, 
fitly planted and nurtured, have found a fruitfuller home. 
The soil was rich and deep. He wrote — "My great 
constituent elements are pride and passion. The first I 
have endeavoured to humanize into integrity and honour ; 
the last makes me a devotee, to the warmest degree of 
enthusiasm, in love, religion, or friendship, — either of 
them, or all together, as I happen to be inspired." The 
organ was there, and the anthem slept. How majestic are 
the thoughts into which his devotional feelings are occa- 
sionally breathed ; — scattered, but solemn notes of a mind 
seldom tuned or played upon, but wonderful in its 
various and swelling music! Head this confession: — "I 
have been, this morning, taking a peep through, as Young 
finely says, ' The dark postern of time long elapsed/ 'Twas 
a rueful prospect ! What a tissue of thoughtlessness, weak- 
ness, and folly ! My life reminded me of a ruined temple. 
"What strength, what proportion in some parts! What 
unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruins in others ! 1 £ne^led 
down before the Eather of Mercies, and said, ' Father, 1 
have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no 
more worthy to be called thy son.' I rose, eased and 
strengthened." 

He approved of " set times and seasons of more than 
ordinary acts of devotion ;" and he had certain Saints'- 
days in his poetical calendar. These were New Year's 
Day; the first Sunday of May; "a breezy, blue-skied 
noon, sometime about the beginning, and a hoary morn- 
ing, and a calm sunny day, about the end of autumn." 
With these holidays of the mind he associated particular 



BURNS. llii 

Bounds and flowers; and especially in spring, he de- 
lighted to look upon "the mountain daisy, the harebell, 
the foxglove, the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and 
the hoary hawthorn." He said — "I have various sources 
of pleasure and enjoyment, which are, in a manner, pecu- 
liar to myself ; or some here or there such other out-of- 
the-way person. Such is the peculiar pleasure I take in 
the season of winter, more than the rest of the year. This, 
I believe, may be partly owing to my misfortunes giving 
my mind a melancholy cast ; but there is something even 

in 

The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste 
Abrupt and deep, stretch' d o'er the buried earth, 

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable 
to everything great and noble. There is scarcely any 
earthly object gives me more — I do not know if I should 
call it pleasure — but something which exalts me, some- 
thing which enraptures me, — than to walk in the sheltered 
side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, 
and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and 
raving over the plain. It is my best season for devo- 
tion ; my mind is wrapped up in a kind of enthusiasm to 
Him who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew bard, 
' walks on the wings of the wind.' " 

A poet seldom keeps his fame with his tongue ; but the 
conversation of Burns was marked by the strong features 
of his genius : brilliant, sarcastic, tender, and flaent, the 
roar and the tears of the table were obedient to his sum- 
mons. An inhabitant of Dumfries gave a lively impres- 
sion of his manner by saying, that he seemed to be despe- 
rately in earnest. He did not always pick his subjects or 
his words. The schoolmaster of Dumfries, indeed, put 
in a claim on his behalf for unblemished language and 
thought ; and declared that he had seen Burns dazzling 
ftnd delighting a party during a long evening by the bright- 
ness and rapidity of his flashes, "without even an allu- 
sion" that ^ould offend the most delicate hearer. I am 



lir BUBNS. 

unable to reconcile the panegyric with the confession of a 
biographer, who found the poet's festive sayings quite un- 
presentable ; but he knew his company, and had jests for 
Nicol, ballads for Stewart, and ri'baldry for the bowl. 

The accounts of his voice are contradictory. I have 
seen it called untunable and harsh. Mr. Allan Cunning- 
ham once heard Burns read Tarn O'Shanter with har- 
mony and skill, following all the undulations of the 
sense, and expressing the humour and the awfuiness of 
the story. Although he never advanced into England 
beyond Carlisle and Newcastle, we are told by Currie 
that he had less of the Scottish dialect than Hume, who 
was polished by the fashion and literature of London and 
Paris ; or Eobertson, whose purity and elegance of com- 
position are his chief characteristics. 

Burns came before the world as the " Ayrshire Plough- 
man ;" but a mere farm-servant he never was ; and in no 
sense of the word could he be styled an uneducated poet. 
We must go to Suffolk, or Northamptonshire, to seek 
real ploughboys bursting into song. Bioomfield has told 
his tale ; and the painful struggles of Clare are freshly 
remembered. He paid for such teaching as he got, by 
extra work in the field or the barn. The toil of eight 
weeks provided schooling for four. A kind neighbour 
taught him to write. He was ignorant of grammar, and 
he had no books ; but the appetite was strong. 

In his fourteenth year, a boy showed to him the 
" Seasons ;" and Clare, having saved up a shilling, set 
off to Stamford, in the dawn of a spring morning, to pur- 
chase a copy, and reached the town before a shop was 
open. 

Now look at Burns, — over-worked, yet rejoicing in the 
pleasant scholarship of home ; by the time that he was 
ten or eleven years old, quite a critic in substantives and 
verbs ; improving his handwriting, or giving his manners 
a brush in the dancing-school ; within-doors finding a 
teacher in his father, a poetic nurse in his mother ;— one 



BUBNS. W 

strengthening liis judgment with good books and arith- 
metic, and the other charming his young fancy with 
legends and ballads of the country-side. He was pro- 
bably a better English scholar than most boys of his age 
who were then at Eton ; and his skill and power of com- 
position might hardly be equalled by the lads who had 
passed into King's. 

In the history of every poet we read a new version of 
the " Faery Queen" found by Cowley in the parlour- 
window. Ramsay was the Spenser of Burns — " Green be 
the pillow," Scott said, " of honest Allan, at whose lamp 
Burns lighted his brilliant torch." Fcrgusson shared the 
honour of kindling it, and the later minstrel borrowed 
from the elder the plan and the measure of several poems ; 
but he justly claimed the name of a disciple, not a copyist, 
for he repaid his debts with lavish interest. The one 
flower-seed sprang up a cluster of bloom. 

His earliest compositions were satirical ; and the first of 
his poetic offspring, as he informs us, that saw the light, 
was the ludicrous portraiture of two ministers as " Twa 
Herds;" " Holy Willie's Prayer" followed it, with " The 
Ordination," and "The Kirk's Alarm." Probably the 
"Epistle to Davie" preceded them. Burns was weeding 
in the kail-yard when he repeated some of the lines to his 
brother, who thought it equal to Harnsay, and worthy of 
being printed. Robert was then twenty-five. "Death 
and Dr. Hornbook" he also recited to Gilbert holding the 
plough, while the poet was letting the water off the field 
beside him. 

A sweeter tune mingled with these strains ; and when 
turning up the furrow, he composed the verses to the 
"Mouse," the "Mountain Daisy," and other rural pieces. 
His poetical growth was quick, and he had only the 
nightingale's April before the May. Burns has left 
examples of nearly every shorter form of rhyme : the 
description, the satire, the epistle, the elegy, the love- 
song, the war-lay, and the epigram. He considered "Tarn 



M BUEXS. 

O'Shanter" to be his standard performance, and public 
opinion confirms his own. I must, however, confess that, 
in my judgment, the story runs down too fast, and the blaze 
of imagination seems to be unexpectedly and suddenly 
quenched in a mean catastrophe, which is the mere stick 
of the rocket. At the same time it is proper to mention 
the contrary view of those critics — 3Iiss Seward in the 
number — who regard the jocose moral as admirably in 
keeping with the general plan, and applaud the poet 
for laughing at his objectors and retaining the sportive 
admonition. The story of "The Twa Dogs'* is not less 
admirable in another style. 

The Scottish poems of Burns can be thoroughly relished 
by his countrymen only. Cowper remarked — " Poor Burns 
loses much of his deserved praise in this country through 
our ignorance of his language. I despair of meeting with 
any Englishman, who will take the pains that I have 
taken to understand him. His candle is bright, but shut 
up in a dark lantern. I lent him to a very sensible neigh- 
bour of mine ; but his uncouth dialect spoiled all, and 
before he had read him through, he was quite ramfeezled." 
Dr. !Moore seems to have anticipated this danger, when he 
warned the poet that all the fine satire and humour of "The 
Holy Fair " would be lost on the English, and urged 
him to abandon the Scottish stanza and dialect, and adopt 
the measure and language of modern English verse. The 
difficulty of comprehension is specially felt in the poems of 
humour and common life ; where a phrase, or a proverb, 
to the familiar ear brings with it a train of home re- 
collections and pleasures. In such cases, the dialect is the 
family accent. Frequently, however, the hindrance is 
scarcely perceived. In " The Cotter's Saturday Night," 
nearly every stanza has a different tone. Sometimes he 
writes pure and simple English ; another passage requires 
a glossary ; and occasionally he combines the two lan- 
guages, and blends, with admirable effect, pathos, sub- 
limity, beauty, and homeliness. Dryden said pleasantly of 






BUENS. lvil 

Theocritus, that even his Doric dialect has an incomparable 
sweetness in his clownishness — like a fair shepherdess in 
her country russet, talking in a Yorkshire tone. The 
Scottish sougs of Burns suggest the same agreeable com- 
parison ; and a freshness sparkles in every word, like dew 
Dn the heather-bell. The " latitudinarianism " of the 
dialect is very accommodating to the poet, who is able by 
this Scottish privilege to marry the most opposite and 
discordant rhymes. Spenser had set the bold example of 
new spelling a word whenever the exigencies of sound 
required it ; and Burns treated his syllables with the 
same freedom. 

The full harmony of his genius flowed into his songs, 
of which the remark of Mr. Pitt was pre-eminently 
true, that he could think of no verse, since Shakspere, 
which had so much the appearance of coming sweetly 
from nature. Under the fragrant birch trees, in the 
heathery glens, or among the moonlit sheaves, the gushes 
of music flowed warm from his heart. The range of it is 
not large, and one mellow, plaintive, delicious love-note 
always returns upon the ear in beauty. But the song of 
Burns was no mere outpouring of rich sounds. He 
bestowed time and patience. " All my poetry," he said, 
" is the effect of easy composition, but of laborious correc- 
tion." Here is the interesting story, from his own pen : — 
"My way is — I consider the poetic sentiment correspond- 
ent to my idea of the musical expression ; then choose my 
theme- — begin one stanza : when that is composed, which is 
generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk 
out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in nature 
round me that are in unison or harmony with the cogita- 
tions of my fancy and workings of my bosom ; humming 
every now and then the air with the verse I have framed. 
When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the 
solitary fireside of my study, and there commit my 
effusions to paper ; swinging at intervals on the hind legs 
of my elbow-chair, by way of calling forth my own critical 



lriii BUENS. 

strictures as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at home, is 
almost invariably my way." The love-poetry of Burns is, 
for the most part, desire set to music. The unselfishness, the 
reverence, and the chivalry of affection he did not appre- 
ciate, or felt himself unable to portray. Crabbe's tale, in 
the second letter of " The Borough," has a sublimity of 
tenderness and a truthful purity which the Ayrshire Bard 
never equalled. 

Johnson, running down Hammond, denies the reality 
of all attachment where there is fiction, and despises a 
lover who courts his mistress with Bonian imagery. 
Burns, too, sweeps away darts, flames, and graces, " as 
just a IMauchline rabble." I know not why pastoral court- 
ship should be truer than classical, for imagery is only the 
reflection of feeling. TTe compare those whom we admire 
to things which we prize. A woman is not more like a 
rose on a castle wall, than she is like Diana with her 
quiver. The rose and the goddess are emblems of beauty, 
and the poet chooses the one or the other, as the flower 
or the figure may be most familiar and pleasing to his 
memory. Taste moulds the lover. JS*or is exaggeration 
incompatible with naturalness. Every poet magnifies a 
circumstance, and illuminates a heroine ; and by so doing, 
he vanquishes the painter, and wins gratitude for the pen. 
To Waller, and not to Yandyck, we owe the ideal charms 
of Saccharissa. 

The amatory compositions of Burns are not so pure in 
spirit as the utterance is melodious. One of his corre- 
spondents wished to see the loose sentiments threshed out 
of a particular song. There is ample room for the flail, and 
with longer life, and in more thoughtful hours, the author 
would have handled it himself; with what advantage to 
the finer wheat and to his own enduring fame, I need not 
Bay, for 

Sweet this man could sing, as morning lark, 
And teach the noblest morals of the heart. 

The language of Burns is worthy of the poetry ; 



BUENS. llX 

animated an<? " "*xible, it combines symmetry with muscle, 
and harmony with strength. In the choice of the illus- 
tration, the happy daring of the phrase, the delicate turn 
of the expression, and the tunefulness of the numbers, he is 
seldom surpassed by the most cultivated of his brethren. 
Even Pope is not a finer study for distinctness and pre- 
cision. 

Wordsworth expressed surprise that Burns — passing 
the fruitful season of his poetical life within sight of 
splendid sea-prospects, bounded by the peaks of Arran 
^■should be quite silent respecting them ; and he ex- 
plains the peculiarity by the fact, that, in the poetry ot 
Burns, natural appearances seldom take the lead. He 
affects us as a man, rather than as a poet, by common 
feelings uttered in the poet's voice. Rivers, hills, anc 
woods are blended in his mind with remembrances of 
place, time, and sentiment. And I am induced to 
copy here the very elegant observations of a true and 
a sympathising critic, a master and a judge of the lyre : l 
— "It is evident, from almost all his pieces, that it was 
his delight — indeed, it was his forte — to localize the person- 
ages of his poetry ; whether the offspring of his brain — 
like Coila, supernatural beings — like the dancers in Kirk 
Alloway, or national heroes — like Wallace and Bruce, with 
the very woods, and hills, and streams which he frequented 
in his boyhood. And in his mind, this assimilation was so 
lively and abiding, that there are few of his descriptions — 
descriptions in number, diversity, and picturesque features 
seldom equalled — on which he has not cast such sunshine 
of reality, that we cannot doubt that they had their pro- 
totypes in nature, and not in nature only, but in his 
native district. It is probable that the mind of every one 
of us lays the scenes of Scripture-narrative, of history, 
of romance, of epic poetry, in fact, of all that we hear or 
read of, — in the places where we spent our childhood and 
youth ; as, for example, the Garden of Eden in our 

1 James Montgomery's " Lectures on Poetry," 1833, pp. 253-5. 



lx BT/ENS. 

father's orchard, where there were many fruit trees ; the 
battle of Cannae on the wide Common, intersected with 
trenches ; the enchanted castle of some stupendous 
giant, upon the hill where the ruins of a Saxon tower 
rise out of a thick wood. It is of some advantage, then, 
to the poet, that the features of the landscapes, amidst 
which he first dwelt, but more especially those of the 
neighbourhood where he went to school, should afford 
rich and plastic materials, which imagination can diversify 
a million-fold, and so accommodate as to make them the 
perpetual theatre of all that he has been taught to re- 
member concerning those who have lived before him, and 
all that he invents to increase the pleasures of memory to 
those that shall come after him. For it is not from the real 
and visible presence of things that the poet copies and 
displays; wherever he is, his "heart" is still " untra- 
velled ;" and it is from the cherished recollections of what 
early affected him, and could never afterwards be for- 
gotten, (having grown up into ideal beauty, grandeur, and 
excellence in his own mind,) that he sings, and paints, and 
sculptures out imperishable forms of fancy, thought, and 
feeling. In this respect, all the compositions of Burns 
are homogeneous. He is in every style, in every theme, 
not only the patriot, the Scotchman, but the Scotchman 
the patriot of Ayrslii re; so dear and indissoluble are the 
ties of locality to minds the most aspiring and independent. 
" Burns, according to his own account, #was distin- 
guished in childhood' by a very retentive memory. In 
the stores of that memory we discover the hidden 
treasures of his muse, which enabled her, with a prodi- 
gality like that of nature, to pour forth images and objects 
of every form, and colour, and kind, while, with an 
economy, like that of the most practised art, she selected 
<md combined the endless characteristics of pleasing or 
magnificent scenery, with such simplicity and effect, 
under every aspect of sky or season, that the bard 
himself seems rather to be a companion pointing out to the 






BURNS. Ld 

*ye the loveliness or horror of a prospect within our own 
horizon, than the enchanter creating a fairy scene visible 
Only to imagination. He appears to invent nothing, while 
ji truth, he exercises a much higher faculty than what is 
frequently called invention. The genius of Burns, like his 
native stream, confined to his native district, reflects the 
scenery on the * Banks of Ayr ' with as much more truth 
and transparency than factitious landscapes are painted in 
the opaque pages of more ostentatious poets, as the 
reflections of trees, cottages, and animals, are more vivid 
and diversified in water than the shadows of the same 
objects are on land." 

A word is due to the prose of Burns. The letters of 
poets include delightful specimens of our language ; and 
the art of Pope, the pictures of Gray, the sunshine of 
Goldsmith, the heart-scenery of Cowper, and the nature of 
Scott, afford to some readers a livelier pleasure than their 
verses. The admirers of Burns add his name to the list. 
He could, and did, write noble English, throbbing with 
life, fashioned in beauty, and moving in grace. But the 
examples are few. His heart was seldom in the work :— 
"Except," he assured Mrs. Dunlop, "when prompted by 
friendship or gratitude, or (which happens extremely 
rarely) inspired by the Muse that presides over epistolary 
writing, I sit down, when necessitated to write, as I sit 
down to beat hemp." 

The aversion and the effort are sufficiently conspicuous, 
and the way to escape them is easily learned. "Just sit 
down as I do," was the admonition of Goldsmith to a 
scanty correspondent, " and write forward till you have 
tilled all your paper ; it requires no thought ; my head 
has no share in ail I write ; my heart dictates the whole." 
In the same temper, Southey assures his wife, after he 
had seen the young " Hoscius," — " I could tell you how 
the actor pleased and disappointed me; but the story 
would take time and thought; and in letter-writing I 
love to do nothing m^e than just say what is uppermost." 



J in BT7BNS. 

Burns never failed when he let the affections guide hii 
pen, and wrote the uppermost thought as it rose. But 
Goldsmith was not his model. In youth he had been 
ensnared by the " wits," and Pope became the object of his 
imitation. With such an artist who might contend ? 
Burns possessed silver and gold ; but only skill the most 
accomplished, and practice untiring, could raise the rare 
chasing on the metal. These endowments he wanted, and 
his celebrated letters are themes. They have a worse 
fault : his adulation is immense ; and no scribbler, bribing 
Harley for a meal, ever outshamed the reply of Burns to 
the " Card" of Lord Bucham 

But I will not linger on his faults, of which some 
did really lean to the side of virtue. And even flat- 
tery is occasionally the heart's voice speaking loud. 
Burns had in him the seeds of a noble character, and 
the ground was good ; but while he slept " his enemy 
came and sowed tares with the wheat," and the fruit 
and the weeds grew together. Jeffrey speculated on the 
healthful influence of pure examples and wise lessons 
put gently before him. The effort would have been 
hazardous, for his pride was full of eyes, always wake- 
ful. He boasted of it as a necessity of life, and wished 
to be stretched to his full length in the grave, that 
he might occupy every inch of the ground to which he 
was entitled. His employment sharpened his tone. A 
moderate independence, literary leisure, and cultivated 
friends might have cherished a sweeter temper of charity 
and meekness in the poet-gauger, weary of a weekly 
gallop of two hundred miles, and the inspection of yeasty 
barrels. And what reader of Burns will refuse to echo the 
voice of Wordsworth, in his sympathy and his prayer? — 

Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight — 
Think rather of those moments bright 
"When to the consciousness of right 

His course was true, — 
When Wisdom prospered in his sight, 

And Virtue grew. 



BURIN'S. 

Yes, freely let our hearts expand, 
Freely as in youth's season bland, 
"When side by side, his Book in hand, 

We wont to stray, 
Our pleasure varying at command 

Of each sweet Lay. 

Through busiest street and loneliest glen 

Are felt the flashes of his pen ; 

He rules 'mid winter snows, and when 

Bees fill their hives ; 
Deep in the general heart of men 

His power survives. 

Sweet Mercy ! to the gates of Heaven 
This Minstrel lead, his sins forgiven ; 
The rueful conflict, the heart riven 

With vain endeavour, 
And memory of Earth's bitter leaven 

Effaced for ever. 

But why to Him confine the prayer, 
When kindred thoughts and yearnings bear 
On the frail heart the purest share 

With all that live ?— 
The best of what we do and arc, 

Just God Pobgivr 1 



lxiii 



fritttatiim of t\t jtaft <Mmt of Downs. 

TO THE 

NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 

OF THE 

CALEDONIANS" HUNT. 



H.V Lc RD3 and Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard, prond of the name, and whose highest ambi- 
tion is to sing in his Country^ ser^ce — where shall he so properly 
Lvok for patronage as to the illustrious names of his native Land, — 
tho^e who bear the honours and inherit the virtues of their Ancestors 1 
The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard 
Elijah did Elisha — at the plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle 
over me. She bade me sing the ieves, the joys, the rural scenes 
&Tid rural pleasures of rny native soil, in my native tongue ; I tuned 
r . wild, artless notes, as she inspired. — She whispered me to come 
to this ancient ^Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Song under 
your honoured protection : I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, 
my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to tha T k 
yuu for past Favours ; that path is so hackneyed by prostituted 
learning, that honest rusticity is ashamed of it, Nor do I present 
this Address with the venal soul of a servile Author, looking for 
a continuation of those favours : I was bred to the Plough, and 
am independent. I come to claim the common Scottish name with 
you, my illustrious Countrymen ; and to tell the world that I glor; 
in the title. I come to congratulate my Country, that the blood of 
her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that from your 
courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may expect protection, 
wealth, and liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my 
warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of 
the [Joiverse, for your welfare and happiness. 

When you go forth to awaken t ] :e Echoes, in the ancient and 
favourite amusement o £ jour forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of 
your party ; and may Social Joy await your return. When harassed 
in courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men and bad measures, 
may the honest consciousness of injured worth attend your return 
vo your native Seats ; and may Domestic Happiness, with a smiling 
welcome, meet you at your gates ! May corruption shrink at 
your kindling indignant glance, and may tyranny in the Ruler, and 
licentiousness in the People, equally find you an inexorable foe i 
I have the honour to be, 
"With the sincerest gratitude, and highest respect, 
Aiy Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS* 
Edinburgh* April 4, 1787. 



TELE 



POEMS OF BURNS. 



THE TWA DOGS. 1 

A TALE. 

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 2 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs, that were na thrang 3 at hame, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 4 
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpit 5 some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw 6 brass collar, 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient 7 a pride, na pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsey's messin. 8 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 9 
Nae tawted tyke, 10 tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him. 

* " The Tale of Twa Dogs " was composed after the resolution of publishing 
was nearly taken. Robert had a dog, which he called Luath, that was a great 
favourite. The dog had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some person 
the night before my father's death. Robert said to me that he should like 
to confer such immortality as he could bestow on his old friend Luath, and 
that he had a great mind to introduce something into the book under the 
title of " Stanzas to the Memory of a qnadmped Friend ;" but this plan was 
given up for the Tale as it now stands. Caesar was merely the creature of 
the poet's imagination, created for the purpose of holding chat with his 
favourite Luath. G. B. 

* A Pictish king, said to have given a name to Kyle. s Busy. 

* Ears. 5 Whelped. 6 Handsome. 7 Fiend. 8 A small dog. 

9 A smithy. >o Dog with matted hair. 

6 



BUBWS. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 1 
A- rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 2 
Wha for his friend and comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang, 3 
War made lang syne, — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash 4 an' faith fu' tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh a or dike. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt 6 face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; 
His breast was white, his towzie 7 back 
We el clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie 8 tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hul.^ owre his hurdies 9 wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff 'd and snowkit ; 10 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit j" 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry 'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
An' there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

CESAR. 

I've aften wonder' d, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have.; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 12 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents : IS 
He rises when he likes himsel ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonnie, silken purse 
As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steeks, 14 
The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 15 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, 16 
Yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 17 

' A country cur. 2 A brother. 

5 Cuchuliin's dog in '* Ossian's Fingal." — K. B. 

Wise. 5 A ditch. 6 White-stri] H. 

Rough. 8 Large. » Loins. ™ Scented. " I>»tfS**« 

» 3 At all. . u Due* of any kind. »* Stitches. u Peeps. 

*• Cramming. l7 Stomach. 



THE TWA DOGS. ° 

"Wi* sauce, ragouts, and sucli like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 1 
Poor worthless elf. it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch 2 in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LTTATH. 

Trowth, Csesar, whyles they're fash't enough 
A cotter howkin 3 in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin 4 a dyke, 
Baring a quarry, and siclike, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A. smytrie 5 o' wee duddie 6 weans,' 
An' nought but his han' darg, 8 to keep 
Them right an' tight in thack an' rape. 9 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger ; 
But, how it comes, I never kend yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly 10 chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

CESAR. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit, 
How huflfd, an' cuff'd, an' disrespeckit! 
Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle, 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 11 

I've notic'd on our Laird's court-day, 
An* mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole 12 a factor's snash \ ci 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse and swear, 14 
He'll apprehend them, poind 15 their gear ; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, 
An' hear it a', an fear and tremble ! 

* Wonder. * Paunch. 3 Digging. * Building 

5 A numerous collection. * Ragged. 7 Children. 

•Labour. 9 Clothing necessaries. I0 Stout-grown. 

11 Badger. 12 Endure. 1S Abuse. 

u « ]yjy indignation yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel factor's 

in»oleut threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears." — 1£. B. 

15 Seize their goods. 

B £t 



BURNS. 

I see how folk live that hae riches : 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches 

LUATH. 

They're no sae wretched's ane wad think 
Tho' constantly on poortith's 1 brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie 2 weans an' faithfu' wives : 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
And ferlie* at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak -fac'd Hallowmass 4 returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting Kirns, 5 
When rural life, o' ev'ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty wins ; 
The nappy 6 reeks wi' mantling ream,' 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin 8 pipe, an sneeshin mill, 9 
Are handed round wi' right guid will; 
The cantie 10 auld folks craekin crouse, 11 
The young anes ranting thro' the house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae bark it wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre af'ten play'd. 
There's monie a creditable slock 
O' decent, honest fawsont 1 * folk, 

Poverty. 2 Thriving. * Wonder. * 31st October* 

5 Harvest-suppers. 6 Ale. 1 Cream. 

Smoking. » Snuff-box. i« Choerfui. 

11 Conversing merrily. » Seemly. 



THE TWA DOGS. 

Are riven out baith root an' branch, 
Some rascal's pride fu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit hinisel the laster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, aiblins. 1 thrang a parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin — 

OESAR. 

Haith, 2 lad, ye little ken about it ; 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt it 
Say, rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 
An' saying aye or no's they bid him : 
At operas an' plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading: 
Or maybe, in a frolie daft, 3 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft, 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn bon ton an' see the worl\ 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails ; 
Or by Madrid he taks the rout, 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt ; 4 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
W — e-hunting amang proves o' myrtles: 
Then bouses drumly 5 German water, 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival Signioras. 
For Britain's guid ! for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction ! 

LUATH. 

Hech, 6 man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last? 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, ran tin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet 7 o' them's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breakin o' their timmer. 8 
Or speakin lightly o' their Limmer, 9 



1 Perhaps * A petty oath. 3 Giddy. 

Fight with black cattle. 5 Muddy. 6 Oh— Strang 

r A petty oath of negation. 8 Timber. 9 A woman of ill character, 



6 BUE^S. 

Or sliootin o* a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. 

J3u.t will ye tell me, ATa>ter Csesar, 
Sure £reat folk's life's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer 1 them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

cs:sa£. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em, 
It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 2 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow themsels to vex them; 
An' ay the less they hae to stun 3 them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acres till'd. he's light enough ; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzens 4 done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi* ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy : 
Their days insipid, dull, an' restless ; 
Their nights unquiet, Lang, an' tasteless ; 
An' ev'n their sports, their balls an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places, 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther 5 a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night, they're mad wi' drink an' w — ring, 
Neist day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great an' gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a run deils an jads thegither. 6 
Whyles, owre the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 

I Mol-at. ■ Groans. * Trouble. i>oio-*t, 

* Cement. • Together. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devil's ^ictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a armer's stackyard, 
An* cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out of sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night ; 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, 
The kye 1 stood rowtin 2 i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, an' shook their lugs, 
Bejoic'd they were na men, but dogs ; 
An' each took affhis several way, 
Hesolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DEIJSTK. 

Give him strong drink, until he wink, 

That's sinking in despair; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That's prest wi' grief an' care ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xrri. 6, T« 

Let other Poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An' grate our lug, 3 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch Drink, 
Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream 4 owre the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an* wink, 

To sing thy name I 

Let husky Wheat the haught 5 adorn, 
An' Aits 6 set up their awnie 7 horn, 
An' Pease au' Beans at een or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, 8 John Barleycorn, 

Thou King o' grain ! 

* Cows. 2 Lowing. s Ear. * Froth. * Valleys, 

* Oats. 7 Bearded. * An endearing phrase — I am happy in thee. 



BUBNS. 

On diee aft Scotland chows her cood, 1 
In souple 2 scones. 3 t 1 e wale 4 o' food! 
Or tumbling in the boiling flood 

Wi 1 kail an' beef ; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, 5 an f keeps up livin : 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin ; 

But oil' d by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin,* 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited 7 Lear : 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' G entlcs thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind, in time o' need, 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and rants f 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry ni^ht we get the corn in, 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in! 
Or reekin on a Kew-year mornin 

In cog 8 or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp 'ritual burn in, 

An' gusty 9 sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 10 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath 

I' th' lugget caup ! n 
Then Burnewin 12 comes on like Death 

At ev'ry chaup. 13 

* Chews her end. * Flexible. 8 A kind of bread. * The choice, 

5 LeJj. « Swiftly. 7 Stupified. 8 A wooden dish. 

• Tasteful. 10 Gear. n A wooden cup with handle. 

u Burnewin— Burn-the-wind — the Blacksmith. u Blow, 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Nae mercy, then, for aim 1 or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, 2 wi' sturd^ Thee], 

The stroi^ ibrehammer, 
Till block an* studdie 3 ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsoxne clamour. 

When skirlin 4 weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumbling cuifs 5 their dearies slight, 

Wae worth the name, 
Nae How die 6 gets a social night, 

Or plack 7 frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud 8 as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley-bree 9 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest Lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte 10 her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But monie daily weet their weason 11 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An* hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier 12 her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, druken hash, 1 * 

O' half his days ; 
An* sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 14 
Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel, 

It sets you ill, 
Wi* bitter, dearthfV wines to me 11, 

Or foreign gill. 
M" y gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch 

Wi' honest men ! 

Iron. * A way of striking with their hammer on the arm. s AaviL. 

4 Cryingi 5 Blockheads. 

6 A midwife. 7 The third part of a Scotch penny. * Mad. 

» Juice. io Blame. u Wesand. ^ Ask. 

A stupid fellow. 1* Enemies. 



10 BUBNS. 

O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a — s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh I 1 O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament fra coast to coast! 
Now colic-grips, an' barkin hoast, 

May kill us a* ; 
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the Whisky stells 2 their prize 
Haud up thy han', Deil ! ance, twice, thrice \ 

There, seize the blinkers I 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — d drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, 3 a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs the best. 



THE ATJTHOE'S EAEXEST CRY AND PEAYEE 4 

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

Dearest of Distillaticn ! last and best — 

How art thou lost ! Parody on Milton, 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our a I fairs 

In Parliament, 
To you a simple Bardie's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet 5 Muse is hearse ! 

Your Honor's heart wi' grief 'twad pierce, 

* From Ferintosh, in Cromartyshire, where the Forbes family long had the 
privilege of distilimp whisky, duty free. 

ills. s Breeches. 

* This was written before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of Session 
t7Rf>; for which Scotland and the Author return their most grateiul 
haiiis.— B. B. * Hoarse. 



THE ACJTHOB's CRY AND PRAYEB. 11 

To see her sitten on her a — 

Low i' the dust, 

An' scriechen out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust ! 

Tell them whae hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavitse ; 
An* rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an* tell yon Premier Youth, 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch and gloom P 
Speak out, an' never fash your thoom ! 
Let posts an* pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 1 

Before them a\ 

Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle; 8 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissle : 8 
An' d— d Excisemen in a bussle, 4 

Seizin a Stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel, 

Or lampit 5 shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her, 

An' cheek-for-chow, 6 a chuffie 7 Vintner, 

Colleaguing ioin, 
Picking her pouch as bare as Winter 

Of a' kind coin. 



Story. 8 Thistle. » Whistle. 

* Bnstle. s A kind of shell-fish. 

6 Side by side . * Fat-faced. 



12 



BURNS. 



Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An* plunder 'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves P 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 

Trode i' the mire out o' sight ! 

But could I like Montgomery es fight, 

Or gab like Boswell, 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw ti^ht, 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it ! 
An' tell them, wi' a patriot-heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' with rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster, 1 a true blue Scot Fse warran ; 
Thee, aith 2 -detesting, chaste Kilkerran; 3 
An' that glib-gabbet 4 Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' G-raham ;* 
An' ane, a chap that's d — d auldfarran, 6 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie 7 Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes, or Tully, 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ; 
Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 8 

Ye'll see't or lang, 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, 

Anither sang. 

1 George Dempster, Esq., of Dunnichen, in Forfarshire. 9 Oath. 

8 Sir Adam Ferguson. — R. B. 

* Quick and smooth-speaking._ 5 The Duke of Montrose. — R. B. 

• SapraniniiH. 7 



iagacioua. 



Fiery. 



8 Plough-staff. 



THE AUTHOR'S CET AND PRAYER. 13 

This while she's been in crankous 1 mood* 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie !)* 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 3 

About her Whisky. 

An' Lord, if ancethey pit her till't, 4 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I* th' first she meets ! 

For God sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair, 
An' straik 5 her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the niuckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive, wi* a' your wit and lear, 6 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, 7 my hearty cocks ! 

E'en co we the cadie ! 6 
An' send him to his dicing-box, 

An' sportin lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, 9 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's 10 

jNlne times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, 11 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-maxtie 12 queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle 13 tongue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung; 14 

' fretful. * Trick. » Distracted. * To it. « Strok*. 

6 Learning. 7 Hot. 8 Terrify the young fellow. 

9 Thick cakes of mixed corn. 
TS A worthy old hostess of the Author's in Mauchline, where he sometimes 
ftudies politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch Drink. — B. B. 

" VVindowi. u Confusedly mixed. « Fearlea*. 

14 Cudtrei. 



14 JBUENS. 

An* if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part ; 

Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 
She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your blither's heart support ye * 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty, 1 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty, 

Before his face. 

God bless you? Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' brats o' claise, 2 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes 3 

That haunt St. JamieV ! 
Your humble Poet sines an' prays 

While Eab his name is. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Let half-starv'd slaves, in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich-elust'ring, rise; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blyth an' frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys, 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho' their Phcebus kinder warms. 
While fragrance blooms an' beauty charms ! 
When wretches rangf-. in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 4 

To stan' or rin, 
Tii3 skelp — a shot — they're an°, a' throwther,* 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

An' there's the foe, 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

S»ucy. * Clothes. s Daws. * Hesitation. 

* Pell-mell. 



THE HOLT FATE. 15 

Nae cauld, famt-hearted doubtings tease him : 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steelc, 1 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 2 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season $ 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither ! 
Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine 3 your dam ; 
Freedom and Whisky gang thegither i 

Tak aiF your dram ! 



THE HOLY FAIK.< 

A robe of seeming truth and trijst 

Hid crafty Observation; 
And secret hung, with poison' d crust, 

The dirk 04 Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget showed, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Jtleligion. — Hypocrisy b-lamcd4. 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the com, 

An' snuff the caller 5 air. 
The risin sun, owre Gals ton 6 muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin 7 down the furs, 

The lav'rocks 8 they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day. 

* Shut. » Smoke. » Lose. 

« Holy Fair is a common phrase in the West of Scotland for a sacraments 
Kcasion.— E. B. 

Fergusson, in his " Hallow Fair " of Edinburgh, I believe, furnished f 
hint and title of the olan of the " Holy Fair." The farcical scene the pool 
there describes was otten a favourite field of his observation, and the most ot 
the ir^denta be mentions had actually passed before his eyes. — G..B. 

• Fresh. 6 The adjoining parish to Mauchline. 

7 Creeping. 8 Larks. 



16 BURNS. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad f 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin 1 up the way. 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart 2 linin ; 
The third, that gaed a wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion sliinin, 

Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, au' claes ;. 
Their visage wither'd, lang, an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes : 3 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie, 4 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ', 
I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, 

But yet I canna name ye." 
Quo' she, an' laughing as she spak, 

An' taks me by the hands, 
"Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

Of a' the ten commands 

A screed 5 some day. 

" My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 

The nearest friend ye hae; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Man chime Holy Fair, 

To spend an hour in daifin : 8 
Gin yell go there, yon runl 1* pair, 

We will get famous lauglnn 

At them this day.' 

Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't j 
I'll get my Sunday's sark 8 on, 

An meet you on the holy spot ; 
Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin !" 



1 Tripping. a Gray. « 81oes. 

• lAmb. 5 A rent. 6 3Ierriment. 7 WrinUtA. 

• Shirt. 



THE HOLY FAIS. 17 

Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, 1 

An* soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie bodie, 

In droves that day. 

Here farmers gash, 2 in ridin graith 

Gaed hoddin 3 by their cotters ; 
There, swankies 4 young, in braw braid-claith, 

Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 5 

An' farls, 6 bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet 7 throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin, 
Some carryin dales, some chairs an* stools. 

An' some are busy bleth'rin 8 

Bight loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There, racer Jess, ao' twa-three w— -e 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw o' tittlin jades, 9 

Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck,, 
An' there a batch o' wabster 10 lads, 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock 
For fun this day. 

Here, some are thinkin on their sins 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd 11 his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 12 

Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces , 
On that a set o' chaps, at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day, 

1 Breakfast-time. 2 Wise. 

8 The motion of a countryman riding on a cart-horse. 

* Strapping young fellows. 5 String. 6 Cakes of bread. 

7 The Elder who holds the alms-dish. 

• Tilking idly. 9 Whispering. 10 Weaver. u Soiled. u Sample. 

a 



18 BUBNS. 

O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes ciinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck 

An's loof 1 upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For Moodie 2 speels 3 the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him, 
The vera sight o' Moodie's face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' thumpin ! , 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, 

His eldritch 4 squeel an' gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters. 

On sic a day ! 

But, hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice ; 

There's peace and rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith 5 opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 
Of moral pow'rs an' reason ? 

His English style, an' gesture fine, 
Are a' clean out o' season. 



* Palm oi the hand. s Minister of Riccarton. * O&vls. 

* Unearthly, * Minister of GalstoiL 



THE HOLT FAIB. 19 

Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For "Peebles, 1 frae the Water-lit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' God, 

An' meek an' mim 2 has view'd it, 
While Common Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' aff, an' up the Cowgate, 3 

Fast, fast, that day. 

Wee Miller, 4 neist* the Guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 5 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But, faith ! the birkie 6 wants a Manse, 

So cannilie he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now, butt an* ben, 7 the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup 8 Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes 9 an' gills, 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic, an* wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gie's us mair 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles Wit, it waukens Lair, 

It pangs 10 us fou o' Knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle 11 up our notion 

By night or day. 

1 Minister of Newtown-upon- Ayr, of which the Water-fit was another nam % 
* Prim. 8 A street so called, which faces the tent in [Mauchline.3 — K. B. 
Assistant-preacher at Auchenleck. 5 Rattles nonsense. * Clever fellow* 
7 Kitchen and parlour. * Ale-cup. 9 Biscuits. "> Crams. u Tickle, 

o2 



2C BIJBtfS. 

The lads an* lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round tlie table, weel content, 

An' steer 1 about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk. 

They're makin observations; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts ; 

Black Eussel 2 is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highlan swordi, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' Hell, whare devils dwell, 
Our vera " sauls does harrow " 3 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin 4 brunstane, 
Wha's raging flame, an' scorching heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! 5 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin, 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 

Asleep that day. 

*Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 

Amang the furms and benches ; 
An* cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches 

An' dawds that day. 

In comes a gaucie, 6 gash Guidwife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck 7 an' her knife, 

The lasses they are shyer. 

* Stir. 

Minister of Kilmarnock, and described aa equally awful in look and 
language. 

3 Shakspeara's Hamlet. — E. B. * Flaming. * Whinstone. 

• Jolly. 7 Che**e. 



THE HOLY FAIB, 21 

The auld Guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es them't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks I 1 for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie 2 his braw claithing ! 
O Wives be mindfu', ance yoursel 

flow bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day ! 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattling tow, 

Begins to jow 3 an' croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow,* 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps 5 the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine. 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in Houghmagandie 6 

Some ither day. 7 

1 Waee me ! s Soil. * To peal or roar. * They can. 

5 G-ates. 6 Fornication. 

' Sharp diseases require sharp remedies ; and Burns' ridicule is said U 
tve been of considerable ise. 



22 



DEATH AST) DOCTOR HOKNBOOK. 1 

A TRUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 

And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n Ministers, they hae been kerm'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, 2 at times, to vend, 

And nail't wi f Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a niffht befell, 
Is just as true's the Deil's in hell 

Or Dublin city : 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 
I wasna fou, but just had plenty : 
I stacher'd 3 whyles, but yet took tent ay 
To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes,, kenn'd ay 

Frae' ghaists an' witches. 

The rising moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre ; 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's mill, 
Setting my staff, wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker j 4 
Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker. 5 

I there wi' Something did forgather, 6 

That put me in an eerie swither J 

An' awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear-dangling, hang: 
A three-taed leister 8 on the ither 

Lay, large aa lang. 

1 John Wilson, schoolmaster of Tarbolton, who excited the anger of Burns 
by talking of his medical skill. Wilson sold medicine and gave advice gratis 
* Fib. s Staggered. 4 Steady. 5 A short course. 
• Meet. 7 Frighted wavering. * Three-pronged dart. 






DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 2? 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa. 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame 1 it had ava, 

And then its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks. 8 

" G-uid-een," quo' I ; " Friend ! hae ye been mawin, 
When ither folk are busy sawin ?" 3 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun, 

Will ye go back?" 

It spak right howe 4 — " My name is Death, 
But be na fley'd."— Quoth I, " Guid faith, 
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

But tent 5 me, billie ; 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 6 

See, there's a gully !" 7 

" Gudeman," quo' he, " put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 8 _ 

To be mislear'd, 9 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 

" Weel, weel !" says I, " a bargain be't ; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

Come, gies your news , 
This while 10 ye hae been mony a gate, 

At mony a house." 

•* Ay, ay !" quo' he, an' shook his head, 
" It's e'en a lang, lang time, indeed, 
Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

An choke the breath : 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An' sae maun Death. 



1 Belly. * A kind of wooden curb. 

* This rencounter happened in seedtime, 1785. — R. B. 

4 Hollow. 5 Be careful. 6 Damage. 7 A large knife. 

» Difficult. 

9 "Put out of my art." — Chambers. 

J8 Ad epidemical fever was then raging in that country. — R. B. 



2* BUENS. 

" Sax thousand years are near hand fled, 

Sin' I was to the hutching bred, 

An* mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

To stap or scaur me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's 1 ta'en up the trade, 

An' faith, he'U waur 2 me. 

" Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Clachan, 3 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! 4 
He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan 5 . 

An' ither chaps, 
The weans haud out their fingers laughin 

And pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith do worth a 

D— d haet they'll kill. 

" 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain : 

But deil-ma-care, 
It just play'd dirl 6 on the bane, 

But did nae mair. 

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortify'd the part, 
That when I looked to my dart, 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

Of a kail-runt. 7 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near-hand cowpit 8 wi' my hurry, 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
I might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

1 This gentleman, Dr. Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of the 
Sovereign Order of the Ferula; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at one« 
in apothecary, surgeon, and physician. — R. B. 

* Worse. 3 Small village. * Tobacco-pouch. 

* " Buchan's Domestic Medicine." — R. B. 6 A slight stroke. 

7 A cabbage-root. 8 Tumbled. 



DEATH AND D0CT0E HOENBOOK. 25 

" And then, a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He's sure to hae ; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

" Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
The Parina of beans and pease, 

He has't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

He can content ye. 

" Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

Urinus Spiritus of capons ; 

Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

Distill'd per se ; 
Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail clippings, 

And mony mae." 

" Waes me for Johnny G-ed's Hole 1 now," 
Quo' I, "if that thae news be true ! 
His braw calf- ward whare gowans 2 grew, 

Sae white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 

They'll ruin Johnnie !*" 
The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, " Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 
Kirk -yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak ye nae fear : 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh 3 

In twa-three year. 

" Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae-death, 4 
By loss o' blood or want o' breath, 
This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

That Hornbook's skiL 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

By drap and pill. 

" An honest Wabster 5 to his trade, 

Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 

Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

"When it was sair ; 
The wife slade 6 cannie to her bed, 

But ne'er spak mair. 

1 The grave-digger.— R. B. 2 Daisies. s Ditch. * A death in beds 
5 Weaver. 6 Did slide. 



26 BURtfS. 

" A countra Laird had ta'en tlie batts, 1 
Or some curmurring 2 in his guts, 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well. 
The lad, for twa gnid girnmer-pets. 3 

Was Laird himsel. 

" A bonnie lass, ye "kend her name, 

Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd 4 her wame s 

She trusts hers el, to hide the shame. 

In Hornbook's care: 
Horn sent her affto her lang home, 

To hide it there. 

That's just a swatch 5 o' Hornbook's way ; 
Thus goes he on from day to day, 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel pay'd for't ; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

Wi' his d— d dirt. 

" But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't ; 
I'll nail the self-conceited Sot 

As dead's a herrin ; 
ETiest time we meet, I'll wad 6 a groat, 

He gets his fairin !" 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

^Yhich rais'd us baith i 
I took the way that pleas 'd mysel, 

And sae did Death. 



THE BRIGS OF AYE. 

A POEM. 

iySCBIBED TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., ATE. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush ; 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush 

The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 

Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild- whistling o'er the hill j 

1 Bota. * A rumbling. 3 Two-year old sheep. * Swelled. 
5 Sample. e Bet. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 27 

Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 
By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train' d to arms in stern Misfortune's field; 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose ? 
No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncnuthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. 
Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 
When Ballantyne befriends his humble name, 
And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame, 
With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels, 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack 1 and rape secure the toil- won crap ; 
Potatoe-bhvs 2 are snugged up frae skaith 3 
O' coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles, 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd 4 wi' brimstone reek ; 
The thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mate's, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays, 

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 

1 Thatch. 2 Potato heaps. * Injury. * Smothered. 



28 BUENS. 

Ae night, within the ancient brngh of Ayr, 

By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care, 

He left his bed and took his wayward rout, 

And down by Simpson's 1 wheel'd the left about : 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 

He wander' d out he knew not where nor why :) 

The drowsy Dungeon clock 2 had number'd two, 

And Wallace Tow'r 3 had sworn the fact was true ; 

The tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen-sounding roar, 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore : 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 

Crept, gently- crusting, owre the glittering stream. — 

When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh 4 of whistling wings is heard $ 
Tvro dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the gos 5 drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither nutters o'er the rising piers : 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 
37ays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
And even the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appear'd o' ancient Pictish race, 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
Yet, teughly 6 doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit, 7 in a braw new coat, 
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls an* whirlygigums 8 at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; 
It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, 
And e'en, a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
He down the water, gies him this guideen : 9 — 

1 A noted tavern at the Auld Brig End. — R. B. 

* In the old prison of Ayr. s Which formerly stood in the High -street, 

* A rushing sound of wind. 5 The gos-hawk, or falcon.— R.B 

8 Toughly stout. 7 Dressed. 8 Useless ornaments. 

• Good evening. 






THE BEIGS OF ATB. 29 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na, Frien', ye'll think ye're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith ! that date, I doubt, ye'll never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a bodle, 1 
Some fewer whigmeleeries 2 in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Yandal, ye but show your little mense,* 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men of taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream, 4 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
O' sic an ugly, G-othic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! 5 pufFd up wi' windy pride ! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 6 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 
When heavy, dark, continued, a' -day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains : 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpal 7 draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 8 
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo 9 rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 16 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 
And from G-lenbuck, 11 down to the Eatton-key, 12 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; 

1 A email gold coin. * Fancies. s Good manners. 

4 A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. — E.B. 
5 A term of contempt ; fool. 6 Distressed. 

' The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in the West of Scot- 
land where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name of ghaists, still 
continue pertinaciously to inhabit. — K. B. 

8 Thaws. 9 Snow-water. 10 Torrent. 

» The source of the River Ayr.— R. B. 

u A small landing place above the large key.— R. B. 



30 BUBNS. 

Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie 1 jaups 2 up to the pouring skies. 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architecture's ooble art is lost ! 

FEW BEIG. 

Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't ! 
The Lord be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 3 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist- alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threat 'ning jut, like precipices : 
O'er arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows and doors in nameless sculptures drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace ; 
Or cuifs 4 of later times, wha held the notion, 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh 5 denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection \ 

AULD BEIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yearlings, 8 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, an ye douce Conveeners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ! 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) y e godly Writers ^ 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, 8 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation. 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race . 

* Muddy. 8 Jerks of water. 8 Lost the way of it. 4 Blockheads. 
* Burgh. • Coevals. 7 Lawyers. * Water. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. SI 

Kae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain, braid Scots hold forth a plain, braid story ; 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, 1 corky-headed, graceless G-entry, 
The herryment 2 and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Tailors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd 3 gear on d — d new Brigs 
and Harbours ! 

NEW BRIG-. 

Now hand yen there ! for faith yeVe said enough, 

And muckle mair than ye can mak to through ; 4 

As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 

Corbies 5 and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 

But, under favour o' your langer beard, 

Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd : 

To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 

I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Ayr, Wag-wits nae mair can have a handle 

To mouth " a Citizen," a term o' scandal : 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 

Men wha grew wise priggin 6 owre hops an' raisins, 

Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 

If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 

Had shor'd 7 them wi' a glimmer of his lamp, 

And would to Common-sense for once betray 'd them, 

Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 

What farther clishmaclaver 8 might been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly 9 dane'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd : 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan, 10 thairm 11 inspiring sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
WTien thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with Highland 
rage, 

1 Half-witted. 2 Devastation. 8 Well-saved. 

iftaJke out. 5 Crows. 6 Cheapening. ? Threatened. 

8 Idle conversation 9 Sprucely. 

*• A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin.— R. B. 
11 Fiddle-string. 



82 extents. 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 

The lover's captured joys, or bleeding cares ; 

How would his Highland lug 1 been nobly nr'd, 

And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspir'd ! 

]S"o guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of I\Iusic's self was heard; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appeal's, 
A venerable chief, advanc'd in years : 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter -tangle 2 bound. 
Is"ext came the loveliest pair in ail the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 
Then, crown'd with now'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid -beaming eye : 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show, 
~Bj Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
iSText followed Courage with his martial stride, 
From where the Feal 3 wild- woody coverts hide ; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A Female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair : 4 
Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Carrine. 5 their long-lov'd abode : 
Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreatH, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken, iron instruments of death : 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 



THE ORDINATIOK.* 

For sense, they little owe to frugal Hear 5 !! — 
To please the mob, they hide the little giv'n. 

Kilmarnock Wabsters," ridge and claw, 
An' pour your creeshie s nations ; 

An' ye wha leather rax 9 an' draw, 
Of a' denominations, 

1 Ear. 2 Sea- weed. 

3 Feal is a small stream that runs near Coilsfield. 
4 The allusion is to Mrs. Stewart, of Stair. 
* Oti- the banks of Ayr, where Professor Stewart resided, when not occu- 
pied uy his work at Edinboro'. 

6 The " Ordination" grew out of a Kirk squabble, in Kilmarnock, Srtween 
the "high-flying" and the "moderate" party, who were vanquisned in the 
fray ; a high-flying minister having obtained the appointment Burns 
endeavoured to console the defeated "moderates" with a vision ot the ex- 
pected ceremony. "Maggie Lauder," as we are informed by Burns, wai 
ihe maiden name of the "Rev. Mr. Lindsay's wife. 

J Weavers, 8 Greaiy. 9 Stretrh. 



THE ORDINATION. 33 

Switli 1 to the Laigh Kirk, ane an* a* 

An' there tak up your st ations ; 
Then aff to Begbie's in a Taw, 2 

An' pour divine libation ^ 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' hell, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ; 
But Oliphant aft made her yell, 

An' Russel sair misea'd her ; 
This day M'Kinlay taks the nail, 

An' he's the boy will blaud 3 her ! 
He'll clap a shangan 4 on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daud 5 her 

Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste an' turn king David owre. 

An' lilt 6 wi' holy clangor : 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl 7 up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,* 

]N"ae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi' pith this day. 

,Come let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it off wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham 9 leugh 10 at his Dad 

Which made Canaan a niger i 11 
Or Phineas 12 drove the murdering blade 

Wi' w — e-abhorring rigour; 
Or Zipporah, 13 the scauldin' jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' th' Inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That Stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion ? 
An' gie him o'er the nock, to feed, 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin', 

Spare them nae day. 

1 Get away. 2 How. $ Slap. 

* A stick cleft at one end. 5 Pelt. <* gi ng> 7 Shriek. 

R Dust. 9 Genesis ix. 22.— R.B. 10 Did lauph. 

u A negro. ^ Numbers xty. 8.— R. B. » Exodus iv. 25.— fi. B* 

D 



34 BUENS. 

Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 

An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte 1 out-owre the & Je, 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An* runts o' grace the pick an' wale, 2 

No gie'n by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tuneful' cheep, 3 

And o'er the thairms 4 be trvin ; 
Oh rare ! to see our elbucks wheep, 5 

And a* like lamb-tails fly in 

Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' aim, 6 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately Fen wick, sair forfairn, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly, elect bairn, 

He's wal'd 7 us out a true ane, 

And sound this day. 

Now Robinson harangue nae mair, 

But steek 8 your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver; 
Or to the Netherton 9 repair, 

And turn a Carpet- weaver 

AfF-hand this day. 

Mutrie and you were just a match, 
We never had sic twa drones : 

Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 
Just like a winkin baudrons. 10 



: Beiiow. 2 Choice. s Chirp. 

* Strings. 5 Elbows jerk. 6 Ir^n. 7 Ohn©ea, 

r Shut- * a, uijjlriet of Kilmaruoek. * Ci& 



THE OEDINATION. 35 

And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons ; 
But now his Honor maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein thro' the city : 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! 

I vow it's unco pretty ! 
There Learning, with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there, — they're packed afFto hell, 

And banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
M'Kinlay, Russel are the boys 

That Heresy can torture ; 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse 1 

And co we 2 her measure shorter 

By th' head some day* 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin 3 in, 

And here's, for a conclusion, 
To every New Light 4 mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion : 
If mair they deave 5 us with their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, 6 and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 

1 A pull upwards. * Lop. • An English pint. 

4 New Light is a cant phrase, in the West of Scotland, for those religions 
opinions which Dr. Taylor, of j^^wieh, has so strenuously defended. — B./".. 
• Deafen. • A match. 



THE CALF. 1 

TC THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVEN, ON HIS TEXT, MALACBI* 
CH. IV. VER. 2. 

•* And they shall go forth, and grow up, like calves of the staiL" 

Eight, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Tlio' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance ; there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf ! 

And should some Patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk. 
I doubt na. sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a Stirk.- 

But., if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 3 

Tho', when some kind, connubial Dear, 

Your But-and-ben 4 adorns, 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And, in your lug, most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte, 5 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claimg 

To rank amang the 2s"owte. 6 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — 

"Here lies a "famous Bullock !" 

1 The Poem was nearly an extemporaneous production on a wager lbs* 
\ wjuld not produce a poem on the subject in a given time. — E. B. 

8 Bullock ol a rear old. * An ox. 4 Kitchen and parlour. 

• Bellow. e Black cattle. 




ADDRESS TO THE DEII 



37 



APDEESS TO THE DEIL. 1 

Oh Prince ! Oh Chief of many throned Pow'rs, 

That led th' embf ttled Seraphim to war — Milton* 

O thou ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairges 2 about the brunstane cootie, 3 

To scaud poor wretches 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a deii, 
To skelp 4 an* scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ;* 

Ear kend an' noted is thy name ; 

An', tho' yon lowin heugh's 6 thy hame, 

Thou travels far ; 
An', faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

JNor blate nor scaur. 7 

Whyles, ranging like a roarin Hon, 
Eor prey a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest fly in, 

Tirlin 8 the kirks ; 
Whyles in the human bosom pryin, 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend GJ-raunie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 

1 It was, I think, in the winter, as we were going together with carts for 
coai to the family fire (and I could yet point out the particular spot), that 
the author first repeated to me the " Address to the Deil." The curious 
idea of such an address was suggested to him by running over in his mind 
the many ludicrous accounts and representations we have from various 
quarters of this august personage. — G-. B. 

2 Dashest. » Wooden dish. ♦ Strike- 

1 The third stanza was originally 

Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, 
When strap pin' Adam's days were green, 
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean, 
My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, young, handsome quean 
Wi' guileless heart. 
■ Flaming pit. ? Neither bashful nor apt to be scared. 

• Uncovering. 



SS BUBN9. 

Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray 

Nod to the moon, 

Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 

Wi' eldritch croon. 1 

When twilight did my Grannie summon, 
To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bunimin, 8 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries 3 comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin 4 light, 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ay out the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-bush, 5 stood in sight, 

Wi' waring sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve 6 did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stoor, 7 quaick, quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter!d, 8 like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks 9 grim, an' wither'd hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed 10 nags, 
They skim the niuirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit 11 dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn 12 in vain ; 
For, Oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, 13 twal-pint 14 Hawkie's gaen 

As yell's 15 the bill." 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 

On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse j 17 

When the best wark-lume 18 i' the house, 

By cantraip 19 wit, 
Is instant made no worth a , 

Just at the bit. 

1 Frightful moan. * Humming. 

* The shrub elder, common in the hedges of barn-yards. * Slanting. 

5 A bush of rushes. f Fist. 7 Hoarse. 8 Fluttered. 9 "Wizards. 
10 Ragwort. '• Digged -ip. 12 Churn. 13 Fondled. »* Twelve-pint. 
u Barren. l6 Bull. w Courageous. 18 "Workijg tool. M Magic 



ADD£2SS TO THE 1.S1L. M 

"When thowes 1 dissolve the snawy hoord, 2 
An' float the jinglin' icy -boor d, 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

13y your direction, 
An' nighted Trav'Hers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 
An* aft your moss -traversing Spunkies 3 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 
Whei? Masons' mystic word an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell. 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd, 

The raptur'd hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'r}^ swaird, 

In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snec-drawing 4 dog ! 

Ye came to Paradise incog, 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 6 

(Black be you fa !) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog, 6 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 
D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 7 
Wi' reekit duds, 8 an' reestit gizz, 9 . 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklented 10 on the man of Uzz 

Your spitefu' joke P 

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hal', 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd 11 his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scawl, 12 

Wast warst ava ? 13 

1 Thaws. 2 Hoard. s Will-o'-whisp. * Trick-contriYiiig. 

* Trick. 6 Shock. ^ Bustle. 8 Smoky clothes. 9 Stunted periwig, 

10 Played. ' J1 Loosed. u Scold. " Of all. 



AG BCTBNS. 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin 1 fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael 2 did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding 3 a* Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye 're thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 4 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 5 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins 6 might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake— 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ey'n for your sake ! 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, 7 
THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. 

AN UNCO MOUBNFU' TALE. 

As Mailie an' her lambs thegither, 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot 8 she coost 9 a hitch, 10 
An' owre she warsl'd 11 in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc 12 he cam doytin by. 
Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
He saw her days were near -hand ended, 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it * 



. 



I Fighting. 2 Yide Milton, Book vi.— R.B. s Worat 

4 Tripping. 5 Dodging. 6 Perhaps. 

* The circumstances of the poor sheep were pretty much as he ha: 
described them : he had, partly by way of frolic, bought a ewe and two 
lambs from a neighbour, and she was tethered in a field adjoining the house 
at Lochlie. He and I were going out with our teams, and our two younger 
brothers to drive for us, at mid-day ; when Hugh Wilson, a curious-looking, 
awkward boy, clad in plaiding, came to us, with much anxiety in his face, 
with the information that the ewe had entangled herself in the tether, and 
was lying in the ditch. Robert was much tickled with Huoc's appearance 
and postures on the occasion. Poor Mailie was set to rights, and when we 
returned from the plough in the evening, he repeated to me her " Death and 
JOying "Words," pretty much in the way they now stand. — G. B. 

» Hoof. 9 Cast. 10 Loop. " Wrestled, 

u A neibor herd-callan. — B. B. 



THE DEATH 0E POOR MAILIE. 41 

He gaped wide, but naething spak. 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my Master dear, 

" Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them niair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair 1 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flocks increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' ! l 

" Tell him, he was a Master kin', 
An' ay was guid to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. 

" O, bid him save their harmless lives, 
Prae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend 2 themsel : 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats 3 o' hay, an' ripps 4 o' corn. 

" An' may they never learn the gaets 5 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu' 6 pets ! 
To slink thro' slaps, 7 an' reave 8 an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great Porbears, 9 
For monie a year come thro' the shears ; 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 
An' bairns greet 10 for them when they're dead. 

" My poor toop-lamb, 11 my son an' heir, 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 
An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins 12 in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name ; 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' not to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

" An' niest my yowie, 12 silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 

1 "Wool. 2 Live comfortably. 3 Small quantities. * Handfnlfi. 

'Ways. 6 Restless. 7 Gates, or breaks in fences. 

8 Rove. 9 Forefathers. 10 Weep. 

u Bam. w Good manners. u Ewe. 



12 



BUfitfS. 

O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 
But ay keep mind to moop 1 an' mell, 2 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

" And dow, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith : 
An' when you think upo' your Mither, 
Mind to be kind to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, 
To tell my Master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'ae get my blatht ?.'* 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead ! 



POOE MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
"Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead ; 
The last, sad cape-stane 4 of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie's dead ! 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our Bardie, dowie, 5 wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him* 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our Bardie, lanely, keeps the Spence 6 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 

* Nibble. 2 Meddle. s Bladder. * Copestone, 

6 Worn with grief. 6 Parlour. 



TO JAMES SMITH. 42 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 1 

Her living image, in her yowe, 

Comes bleating to him owre the knowe, s 

For bits o' bread ; 
Aji* down the briny pearls rowe 

Tor Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 3 

Wi' tawted 4 ket, an' hairy hips ; 

For her forbears were brought in ships, 

Frae yont the Tweed ? 
A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 5 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie 6 thing — a rape ! 
It maks guid fellows girn 7 an* gape, 

Wi' chokin dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye Bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters 8 tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 9 

O' Robin's reed! 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead ! 



TO JAMES SMITH. 10 

Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul ! 

Sweet' ner of Life, and solder of Society ! 

I owe thee much. BlaW. 

Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie 11 thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 12 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 13 

Against your arts. 
For me, I swear by sun and moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 



• Dell. 2 Hillock. 3 Rams. * Matted wool. 5 Sheers. 

6 Unlucky .7 Grin. 8 Parts of bagpipes. 9 Moan. 
Smith kept a shop in Mauchline. n Cunning. ^ Wizard spell. I s Trocf 



4% BURNS. 

That auld. capricious cariin. 1 Mature, 
To mak amends for Bcrimpit 2 stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'rv feature, 

She's wrote, " The Man.* 1 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancie yerkit 3 up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 

Some rhyme ^vain thought !) for needfu' cash, 

Some rhyme to court the contra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I nerer fash ; 4 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
An' d — d my fortune to the groat 5 

But, in requit, 
Has blest me wi* a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid, black prent ; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, " Hoolie F 
I red 6 you, honest man, tak tent ! 

Ye'U shaw your folly. 

" There's ither poets, much your betters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 

A' future ages ; 
Row moths deform in shapeless tatters, 

Their unknown pages.*' 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland m) poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

!My rustic sang. 

1 Old woman. * Scanty. s Lashed. * Care for. 5 Gently. e I warn you. 



POOli MAlLIE'S elegt. 4£ 

I'll wander on, wi' tentless 1 heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death begin a tale ? 

J ust now We're living, sound an' hale ; 

Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave Care o'er side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 2 
Is a' enchanted fairy-land, 
Where pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic-wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd,- 
See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrinkl'd face, 
Comes hostin, 4 hirplin 5 owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foam in, 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear deluding woman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy mornmg, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, 

To joy and play. 

1 Heedless. 
* In vcmr epistle to J. S., the stanzas, from that beginning with this lin^, 
•'This life," &c, to that which ends with, " Short while it grieves," are easy, 
flowing, gaily philosophical, and of Horatian elegance. The language ig 
English, with a few Scottish words, and some of those so harmonious as to 
*dd to the beauty ; for what poet would not prefer gloaming to twilight t 
—Dr. Moobe, June 10, 1789. 

3 Climbed. * Coughing. 5 Limping. 



4:6 BUfiNS. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves ; 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat, 

But care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some Fortune chase ; 
Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey : 
Then canine, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin' ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin', 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvhV, 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce wi' peevish, poor complaining! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning H 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, " Ye Pow'rs !" and warm implore, 

" Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, 

In all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

Ay rowth 1 o' rhymed. 

"Gie dreeping 2 roasts to countra Lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-guards, 

And Maids of Honour; 
And yill 3 and whisky gie to Cairds, 4 

Until they sconner. 5 

Fwtr. * Dropping. » Ale* * Tinkers. * Loathe. 



POOB MAILTS'B ELEGT. 47 

" A Title, Dempster 1 merits it ; 

A Garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 

Gie WealtJi to some be-ledger'd Cit, 

In cent per cent ; 
But gie me real, sterling Wit, 

And I'm content. 

" While Ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail, 2 

Wi' cheerfu' face, 
As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the grace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk 3 beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may ; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

ye' douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compar i wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 
Your L^arts are jn?i a standing pool, 
iTour lives, a dyke ! 

ISTae hair-brain'd sentimental traces, 
In your unletter'd, nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye 're wise 5 
Nae ferly 4 tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam 5 boys, 
The rattling squad : 

1 see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road.— 

Whilst I — but I shall haud me there— 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where- 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat 6 my sang, 
Content with You to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 

- Ax* active Member of Parliament, who died in 1818. 
Broth made of water, shelled barley, and greens. 3 Stoopu 

* Ad exureasion of ccstempi. ' Tiiougsiiess. * Quit 



iS 



A DREAII. 

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statnte blames with reason; 
But surely Deeams were ne'er indicted Treason. 

u On reading, in the pnblic papers, the Laureate's Ode, with the 
other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt 
asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee \ 
and in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address." — R. B- 

God-mornis" to your [Majesty ! 

May heaven augment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, 

A humble Poet wishes ! 
My Bard ship here, at ycur Levee, 

On sic a clay as this is. 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang thae Birth- day dresses 

Sae fine this day. 

I see ye re complimented thrang, 

By many a lord an' lady ; 
" God save the King !" 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The Poets, too, a venal gang, 

TVi' rhymes weel turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar 1 you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady, 

On sic a day. 

For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna natter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on Your Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter ; 
There's monie waur been o' the Race, 

And aiblins 2 ane been better 

Than You this day. 

'Tis very true my sovereign King, 
My skill may weel be doubted : 
But F&cts are cheels 3 that winna ding, 4 

An' downa 5 be disputed : 

t Make. 2 Perhaps. 8 YonngfeUo;**, 

* Will not be beaten. 5 Cannot. 



A DBEAM. 49 

Your Royal nest, beneath. Your winp 

Is e'en right yeffc an' clouted, 1 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

3?han dici a,e day. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

YeVe trusted Ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 2 

Wad better filled their station 

Than courts yon da^ 

And now yeVe gien auld Britain peac 

Her broken shins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester ; 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost 3 to pasture 

I' the craft 4 some day 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get,* 

A name not envy spairges,) 6 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, God's sake ! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges 

An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek 7 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may Ye rax 8 Corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great Birth-day. 

pan^ patched j the allusion is to the separation of America. 2 Cow eud>* : 
» Must needs. * Field. 5 Child. 6 Bemires. 7 Exult. 8 Stretoi^. 



$0 BV RETS. 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please Ye 9 
Will Ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies Ye ? 
Thae bonny bairntime, Heav'n has k nt, 

Still higher may they heeze 1 Ye 
In bliss, till Fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release Ye 

Frae care that day. 

For yon, young Potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure's stream, wi* swelling saib? 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie 2 

By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's 3 been known 

To mak a noble aiver ; 4 
Sae, ye may doucely fill a Throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 5 
There, Him 6 at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John, 7 

He was an unco shaver 8 

For monie a day. 

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg. 9 

£Tane sets the lawn-sleeves sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty 10 dog 

That bears the Keys of Peter, 
Then, swith | u an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth! ye'll stain the Mitre 

Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, 12 1 learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley, 13 stem and stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; 

i Baise. * Mr. Fox. » Colt. 4 Cart-horse. * Idle talk. 

6 King Henry V.— R. B. 1 Sir John Falstaff : vide Shakspeare.— K. B. 

s "Wag. tf Osnaburg gave the title of Bishop to the second son of George III, 

10 Proud. n Getaway. 

u The Royal " Breeks" was the Duke of Clarence. 

Alluding to '.he newspaper account of a certain Royal sailor's amour. — K. b. 



THE VISION. HI 

But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple airn, J 

An', large upon her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a plenty : 
But sneer na British boys avra', 

For Kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German Gentles are but sma*, 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

God bless you a* ! consider now 

Ye're unco muckle dautet ; 2 
But, ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie 3 fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't 4 at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen 5 they hae clautet 6 

Fu' clean that day. 



THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST. 7 



The sun had closed the winter day, 
The Curlers 8 quat their roarin play, 
And hunger'd Maukin 9 taen her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

"Where she has been. 

The thresher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And when the day had clos'd his e'e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the Spence, 10 right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

1 Iron. 8 Caressed. * Little wooden dish. * Murmured. 
• The angle between the side and bottom of i,ne dish. 6 Scraped. 

7 Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive po&xa. 
Bee his " Cath-Loda," vol. ii. of M'Pherson's translation. — R. B. 

flayers at a fiKf&e on the ice, called curling. 9 Har&- I0 The parlour.. 



$2 BUENS. 

There, lanely, by the ingle- cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld, clay biggin ; 3 
An* heard the restless rattons 2 squeak 

About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit 

My cash-account : 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit 8 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt 'ring, blockhead ! coof ! 4 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 5 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath — 

When, click ! the string the snick 6 did draw ; 
And, jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
And by my ingle-lowe 7 I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whist ; 8 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; 
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht 9 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 

And stepped ben. 10 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly -boughs 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows, 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token ; 
And come to stop those reckless vows, 

Would soon been broken. 

* House. 2 Eats. * Half -provided with shirts. * Ninny. 

5 Thickened or stained paun, • Latch. * Hearth-fie™*. ' 

* *Uenoe. * Siruck down. *> inward. 



THE VISION. 63 

A " hair-brain'd, sentimental trace," 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly -witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honour. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen ; 
Till half a leg was scrimply 1 seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

JSTane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : 2 
Auld hermit Ayr staw 3 thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient Borough rear'd her head ; 

Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish' d grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there, 

I could discern : 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, 

With features stern. 

* Partly. » Sounds. » Did steal. 



54 BUKiNS. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 

To see a Eace 1 heroic wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows : 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. 

His Country's Saviour, 2 mark him well ! 
Bold Kichardton's 3 heroic swell ; 
The Chief on Sark 4 who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade 6 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial Eace, portray 'd 

In colours strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 

They strode along. 
Thro' many a wild, romantic grove,' 
^ear many a hermit- fancy 'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship, or for Love, 

In musing mood,) 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned Sire and Son I saw, 7 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw ; 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave Ward 8 1 well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who calTd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on, 
Where many a Patriot name on high, 

And Hero shone. 

i The Wallaces.— R. B. 2 William Wallace.— R. B. 

* Adam Wallace, of Richarton, cousin of the immortal preserver of Scot- 
tish independence. — R. B. 

* Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, nnder Douglas 
Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 
ltt8. That glorious victory was principally owin>r to the judicious conduct 
and intrepid valour of tne gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds 
after the action. — R. B. 

Coilus, King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take 
its name, lies bm:rd, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the Mont- 
jjomeries of Coilstield, where his burial-place is still shown. — R. B. 

6 Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk [Miller]. — R. B. 

7 Catrine, the seat of the late Doctoi, and present Professor Stewart. — B. B. 

* Colonel Fullaxton.— B. B. 



flB VISIOW. oi 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heav'nly-seeming Fair ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witne.-s bear, 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder Sister's air 

She did me greet. 

" All hail ! my own inspired Bard I 
In me thy native Muse regard ! 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

" Know, the great Genius of this land 
Has many a light, aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As Arts or Arms they understand, 

Their labours ply. 

" They Scotia's Race among them ghare \ 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare : 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care, 

The tuneful art. 

" 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
They, ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal Senate's roar, 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

"And when the Bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild, Poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

" Hence, Fullarton, the brave and young $ 
Hence, Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
Hence, sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His \ Minstrel lays ;' 
Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

The Sceptio' bays. 



56 BtTSN9. 

" To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human-kind, 
The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

The Artisan : 
All chuse, as various they're inclin'd, 

The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threat'ning storm some, strongly, rem 5 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill ; 
And some instruct the Shepherd-train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

" Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the Maiden's artless smile ; 
Some soothe the Lab'rer's weary toil, 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at large Man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic Bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

"Of these am I — Coila my name ; 

And this district as mine I claim, 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame* 

Held ruling pow'r : 
I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

" With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways, 
Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the North his fleecy store 

Drove thro' the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar, 

Struck thy young eye. 



THE VISION. 57 

u Or when the deep green-mantl'd Earth 
Warm-cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 
And joy and mnsic pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

With boundless love. 

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the Reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely stalk, 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

" When youthful Love, warm-blushing strong. 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To soothe thy Same. 

" I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 

By Passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from HeaveiL 

" I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends ; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 

" Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow ; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

With Shenstone's art ; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

" Yet, all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 



SB BUEX8. 

"Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine j 
And trust me, not Totosi's mine, 

]N T or Kings' regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic Bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one, — 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan; 
Preserve the dignity of Man, 

With Soul erect ; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

" And wear thou this " — she solemn said* 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OH THE RIGIDLY 

RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rale, 

And lump them aye thegither; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool, 

The Rigid Wise anither: 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyl^s o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 

For random fits o' daffin. 

Solomon. — Eccles. vi?.l5 

O ye wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
YeVe nought to do but mark -and tell 

Your ISTeebour's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply 'd wi' store o' water, 
The heapet happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable Core, 1 

A3 counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door, 

For glaikit- Folly's portals ; 

l Corps, a Careless, 




ADDBESS. 69 

I, for their thoughtless, careless sake*, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie 1 tricks, their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 

And shudder at the niffer, 2 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ? 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in. 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hidin'. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What raging must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Eight on ye scud your sea-way : 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 

See Social life and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till, quite transmugrify'd, 3 they're grown 

Debauchery and Drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dieaded hell to state, 

Damnation of expenses ! 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper r your lug, 

Ye're aiblins 4 nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother Man, 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennie 5 wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One pomL mast still be greatly dark, 

The moving Why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Uiikufcj. * Exchange % 'EtzJQ£sxa&d» * Maybe. ■' Small matter, 



60 BURNS. 

Who made tlie heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try ns, 
He knows each chord — its various tone, 

Each spring — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's clone we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY* 1 

An honest man's the noblest work of God. — Pope. 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil ? 
Or great M'Kinlay 2 thrawn his heel ? 
Or Robinson 3 again grown weel, 

To preach an* read P 
" Na, waur than a' !" cries ilka chiel, 

" Tarn Samson's dead V 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, 
An' sigh, an' sab, an J greet her lane, 4 
An' deed 5 her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, 

In mourning weed ; 
To Death she's dearly paid the kane, 6 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

The Brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in woefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gi*»n the Lodge an unco devel, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the Curlers flock 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock ? 

Tarn Samson's dead? 

* "When this worthy old spcntsman went ont last muir-fowl season, he 9np- 
posed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields ;" and expressed 
an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author 
composed his Elegy and Epitaph. — E. B. 

2 A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. — Vide The Ordina 
tion, stanza ii. — R. B. 

3 Another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who was at that 
time ailing. For him, see also The Ordination, stanza ix. — R. B. 

* Herself alone. * Clothe 6 Rent. 



TAM SAMS0N*S ELEGY. 6! 

He was the king o' a* the Core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on Death's hog-score, 1 

Tarn Samson's dead! 

Now safe the stately Sawmont 2 sail, 
And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And Eels weel ken'd for souple tail, 

And G-eds for greed, 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail 

Tarn Samson dead ! 

Rejoice, ye birring Paitricks 3 a* ; 
Ye cootie Moorcocks, crousely craw ; 4 
Ye Maukins, 5 cock your fud 6 fu' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal Fae is now awa', — 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

That woefu* morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin graith 7 adorn'd, 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, Och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

In vain auld age his body batters ; 

In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 

In vain the burns cam' down like waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

" Tarn Samson's dead !" 

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, 
An' aye the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit 

Wi' deadly feide ; 8 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tarn Samson's dead! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; 
"Lord, five !*' he cry'd, an' owre did stagger ; 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

* A distance line in cnrling, drawn across the rink. 2 Salmon. 

1 Partridges. * Cheerfully crow. 5 Hares. * Tail. 7 Dress. fc Feui* 



62 BUBNS. 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head. 
"WTiare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, 

Tarn Samson's dead! 

There, low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mouid'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfovrl bigs her nest, 

To hatch and breed; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

"When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tarn Samson's dcadl 

Heav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is th' wish o' mony mae than me : 
He had twa faults, or maybe three, 

Yet what remead P 
Ae social, honest man want we : 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

THE EPITAPH. 

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lieg, 

Ye canting zealots, spare him! 
If honest worth in heaven rise, 

Yell mend or ye win near him. 

PEE CONTEA. 1 

Go, Fame, an* canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie, 8 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 
For yet, unskaith'd bv Death's gleg gullie/ 

Tarn Samson's livin ! 

» The "Per Contra" was a peace-offering to the old sportsman, angry at 
his poetical dissolution. Burns retired to the window in Tarn's tpartrneot 
for a few minutes, and returned with this stanza on his lips. 

2 Killie is a phra-je the country-folks sometimes use for the noma of £ 
certain town in the west [Kiluiaruoek] . — R. B. 



* Sharp knife 










HALTX^VEEN 



63 



HALLOWEEN. 1 

The following Poem will, by many readers, be well enough under- 
stood ; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the 
manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, 
notes are added, to give some account of the principal charms and 
spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the 
west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a 
striking part of the history of human nature, in its rude state, in 
all ages and nations ; and it may be some entertainment to a 
philosophic mind, if any such should honour the Author with a 
perusal, to see the remains of it, among the more unenlightened in 
our own. — R. B. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 

The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 

To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 

One native charm, than all the gloss of art. — Goldsmith. 

Upon that night, when Fairies light 

On Cassilis Downans 2 dance, 
Or owre the lays, 3 in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Colean the route is ta'en, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the Cove 4 to stray an' rove, 

Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night. 

Amang the bonnie, winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin, 5 clear, 
Where Bruce 6 ance rul'd the martial ranks, 

An' shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, contra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, 7 an' pou their stocks, 9 

An* haud their Halloween 

Fu blythe that night. 

i Halloween is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mis. 
chief-making beings are all abroad on their baneful, midnight prrand9 ; par- 
ticularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said, on that night to hold a 
grand anniversary. — R. B. 

* Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood of the 
ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis. — R. B. 3 Fields. 

4 A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean ; which, as 
Well as Cassili9 Downans, is famed in country story for being a favourite 
haunt of fairies. — R. B. 

* Meandering. 

•The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the greit 
deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick.— R. B. 

' 2\ uta, r\anta of k&ii. 



Brass. 

The lasses feat, 1 an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine j 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe,* 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin : 
The lads sae trig, 3 wi' wooer-babs, 4 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin 

Whyles fast at night. 

Then, first, an' foremost, thro' the kail, 

Their stocks* maun a' be sought ance : 
They steek their een, an' grape 6 an' wale,* 

For muckle anes, an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel 8 "Will fell affthe drift, 

An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 9 
An' pow't, 10 for want o' better shift, 

A runt 11 was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't 1 - that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird 13 or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; 14 
The vera wee things, toddlin, rin, 

^Vi' stocks out-owre their shoutherj 
An' gif the custocs 15 sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs 16 they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, 17 aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw 18 frae' mang them a* 

To pou their stalks o' corn ; 19 
But Eab slips out, an' jinks 20 about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 



1 Spruce. 2 Shewn. 8 Smart. * Garters knotted with loops. 
1 The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant of 
kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the hrst they 
meet with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the 
size and shape of the grand object of all their spells — the husband or wife. 
If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, or fortune; and the 
taste "of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natursJ 
temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to gixe them their ordinary 
appellation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the door ; and 
the christian names of the people whom chance brings into the house, are, 
according to the priority of placing the runts, the names in question. — E. B. 
6 Grope. 7 Choose. 8 Half-witted. 9 Cabbage. 

io Pulled. u A cabbage stem. 

i 2 Crooked U Earth. M In confusion. 

1 5 Hearts of stems. 1& Knives. "Snugly. 1S Steal. 
19 They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of 
&at9. If the third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain at the top 
tta stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage-bed anything but 
»mfiii-E.B. a> Dodges. 



. 






: 



Halloween. 65 

He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; ' 

Loud skirled a' the lasses ; 
But her tap -pickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlin 1 in the fause-house* 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld guid wife's weel-hoordet 3 nits 4 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, 5 side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, 

An' jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie 6 e'e ; 

Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; 
But this is Jock, and this is me, 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him. 

As they wad never mair part ; 
Till, fuff ! he started up the luin, 7 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow -kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie 8 Mallie, 
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, s 

To be compared to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, 

An* her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor 10 by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-house in her minV 1 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase 12 they're sobbin : 

1 Cuddling. 
"When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, the 
tack-builder, by means ol old timber, &c. makes a large apartineut in his 
/tack, with an openiug in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind : this 
he calls a fause-house. — It. E. 

3 Well-hoarded. 
* Burning the nat2 s a famous charm. They name the lad and the lass to 
each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire j and accordingly as they 
burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course and 
tSBue of the courtship will be. — R. B. 

* Loving. 6 Cautious. 7 The chimney. 8 Demure. 

'Pet. 10 Swore. " Mind. * 2 Ashes. 

V 



G$ BURKS. 

Nell's heart was dancin at the view ; 

She whisper'd E-ob to leuk for't : 
Hob, stownlins, 1 prie'd 2 her bonnie men, 

!Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es* them gashin at their cracks, 

An* slips out by hersel : 
She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An* to the kiln she goes then, 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks, 4 

And in the biue-clue 5 throws then, 

Bight fear't that night. 

An* aye she win't, an* ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin ; 6 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid Lord ! but she was quaukin ! 7 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier 8 that night. 

Wee Jennie to her Graunie says, 

" Will ye go wi' me Grannie ? 
I'll eat the apple 9 at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnie :" 
She fuff't 10 her pipe wi' sic a lunt, 11 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic't na, an aizle 12 brunt 

Her braw new worset 13 apron 

Out thro' that night. 



i By stealth. 2 Tasted. 3 Leaves. 

* Cross-beams. 

1 Whoevei would, with success try this spell, must strictly observe these 
fibre ctions : — Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into th6 
pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue off the old one ; and, towards 
the latter end, something will hold the thread; demand, Wha bauds? i.e. 
who holds ? an answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, by naming the 
christian and surname of your future spouse. — B. B. 

6 Dallying. 7 Quaking. 8 Inquire. 

9 Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat an apple before it, 
and some traditions say, you should comb your hair all the time ; the face of 
your conjugal companion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over 
your shoulder. — K. B. 

10 Did blow. u Column of smoke. u Hot cinder. 

is Worsted. 






HALLOWEEN. 6/ 

61 Ye little skelpieMimmer's face ! 

I daur you try sic sportin, 
As seek the foul Thief onie place, 

For him to spae 2 your fortune ; 
JS"ae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten fright, 

An' liv'd an' di'd deleerit, 3 

On sic a night. 

** Ae Hairst 4 afore the Sherra-moor, 8 

I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey 6 then, I'm sure 

I was na past fyfteen : 
The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

An* stuff was unco green ; 
An' ay a ran tin kirn we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

Sl Our stibble-rig 7 was Eab M'Graen, 

A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That liv'd in Auchmacalla ; 
He gat hemp-seed, 3 I mind it weel, 

An' he made unco light o't ; 
But monie a day was by himsel, 

He was sae sairly frighted 

That vera night." 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him. slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 
An' try't that r>ight. 

* A word of scalding. 2 Prophesy. s Delirious. * Harvest. 

5 Sheriff-moor, the battle fought in. the Rebellion, 1715. 

6 A romping girl. 7 Head reaper. 

* Steal out unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp-seed; harrowing i$ 

with any thing you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now and then, 

*' Hemp-seed, I saw thee, hemp-seed, I saw thee ; and him (or her) that is to 

be my true-love, come after me and pou thee." Look over your left shoulder, 

and you will see the appearance of the person invoked, in the attitude ol 

pulling hemp. Some traditions say, " Come after me, and shaw thee," that is, 

show thyself: in which case it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, 

vad say, " Come after me, and harrow thee." — R. B. 

?2 



He marclies thro* amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin : l 
The graip 2 he for a harrow taks, 

An' h^urls 3 at his curpin : 4 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

" Hemp -seed, I saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, an' draw thee 

As fast this night.** 

He whistl'd up Lord Lenox' march, 

To keep his courage cheary ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae ney'd 6 an* eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeak, 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He, by his shouther gae a keek, 6 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 7 

Out-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadful' desperation ! 
^n* young an' auld came rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor '*was hilchin 8 Jean M'Craw, 

Or crou<?hie 9 Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a* : 

An' wha was it but Grumphie 

Asteer 10 that night ! 

Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen 

To winn three wechts o' naething j u 
But for to meet the Deil her lane, 

She put but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

And twa red-cheekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tarn Xipples 
That vera night. 

1 Frightened. s Stable fork. 3 Drags. 4 Crupper. 

f Scared. 6 A peep. 1 Stagger. 8 Halting. 9 Crook-bached. 

i° Abroad. 

11 This charm must likewise be performed unpereeived, and alone. 
Sou go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if 
possible; for there is danger, that the being, about to appear, may shut 
:he doors, and do you some mischief. Then +,ake that instrument used in 
winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a wecht ; and go 
through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat 
it three times ; and the third time an apparition will pass through the barn, 
in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the figure vb 
question, and the appearance or retinue marking the employment or statioi 
in life.— E. B. 



HALLOWEEN. OH 

She turns the key, wi' cannie thraw, 

An* owre the threshold ventures : 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ratton 1 rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd, Lord preserve her! 
4n' ran thro' middea-hole 2 an' a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour, 
Fu' fast that night. 
They hoy't 3 out Will, wi' sair advice ; 

They hecht 4 him some fine braw ane : 
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't 5 thrice 5 

Was timmer 7 -propt from thrawin : 
He taks a swirlie, 8 auld moss-oak, 

For some black grousome Carlin ; 
An' loot a winze, 9 an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes 10 cam haurlin 

AfPs nieves 11 that night. 
A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As cantie 12 as a kittlen ; 
But, Och ! that night, amang the shaws, 13 

She got a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the wins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn, 14 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 
Whyles owre a linn the<burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it whimpl't : 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel 15 it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit 16 underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 

1 Eat. 2 Gutter at the bottom of a dung-hill. 

s Urged. 4 Foretold. 5 Fathomed. 

c Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bean-stack, and fathom it 
three times round. The last fathom of the last time you will catch in your 
arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. — R. B. 

7 Timber. 8 Knottv. 9 Oath. w Shreds. 

" Fists. J2 * Merry. '3 Woods. 

14 You go out, one or more, (for this is a social spell,) to a south running 
spring or rivulet, where " three kiirds' lands meet," and dip your left shirt 
ileeve. Goto bed in sight of a fire and hang your wet sleeve before it to 
dry. Lie awake ; and some time near midnight, an apparition, having the 
exact figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the sleeve, 
as if to dry the other side of it. — K. JB. 

15 Small whirlpool, or eddy. i« Appeared and vanished 



/O BUKNS. 

Amang the bracliens, 1 on the bra<;, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The Deil, or else an outler Quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 2 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ;* 

!Xear lav'rock-height she jurapit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs 4 she plum pit, 

Wf a plunge that night, 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies 5 three 6 are ranged ; 
And evry time great care is ta'en, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' ]Mar's-year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom" dish thrice, 

He heaved them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

Wi s merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary ; 
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheary ; 
Till butter'd So'ns, 8 wi' fragrant lunt, 9 

Set a' their gabs i0 a steerin ; n 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 1 - 

They parted aff careerin 13 

i Fu'blythe that night. 

Fern. 2 A deep moan. 3 Leaped out of the case. » Kars. 

5 Small wooden dishes with handles. 
6 Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another, leave 
the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the hearth where the 
dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean 
water, the future husband or wife will come to the bar of matrimony, a maid : 
if in the foul, a widow: it" in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, 
ao marriage at all. It is repeated three times ; and every time the arrange- 
ment of the dishes is altered. — E. B. 

7 Empty. 
8 Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween 
Slipper. — E. B. Soiceyis is a kind of oatmeal pudding. 

9 Smoke. l0 Mouths. n A-stirring. 

J 2 Spirituous liquor of any kind. i3 Cheerfully. 



71 
THE JOLLY BEGGAES.' 

A CANTATA. 
EECITATIYO. 

When lyart 2 leaves bestrew the yird, 
Or, wavering like the bauckie* bird, 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast : 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyts, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch 4 drest ; 
Ae night, at e'en, a merry core 

O' ran die, gangrel 5 bodies, 
In Poosie-JSTansie's held the splore,* 
To drink their orra duddies : 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang ; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle 7 rang. 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae and blankets warm ; 

She blinket on her sodger ; 
An' aye he gies the tozie 8 drab 

The tither skelpin 9 kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab, ic 
Just like an aumous aish ; u 
Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whup, 
Then staggering, and swaggering, 
He roar'd this ditty up — 

» Sir Walter Scott was unable to conceive any good reason why Dr. Carrie 
did not introduce this Cantata into his collection. For humorous description 
and nice discrimination of character, he thought it inferior to no poem of the 
same length in the whole range of English verse ; and the mirth of the songs, 
combined with the vividness of the pictures, he considered to be unequalled. 
This is very exaggerated praise; and few readers, I should suppose, will 
admit the truth of Scott's remark, that "even in describing the movements 
of such a group, the native taste of the poet ha3 never suffered his pen to 
slide into anything coarse or disgusting." See Scott's "Prose "Works," 
xvii. 244. Mr. Loekhart is yet more profuse of admiration, and doubts if 
Shakspeare, out of such materials., could have constructed a piece, "in 
which the sympathy-awakening power could have been displayed more 
triumphantly." And Allan Cunningham outstrips his predecessors, by 
affirming that " nothing in the language, in life and character, approachei 
this song." The " Beggar's Opera" being a "burial, compared to it." Surely 
this is the burlesque of criticism, and only brings it into contempt. 

2 Discoloured. 3 Bat. * Hoar-frost. 5 Vagrant. 6 Frolic. 

'The iron plate for baking cakes. 8 Tipsy. 9 Slapping. » Mouth. 

" The beggar's alms-disn. 



72 BT7BN8, 

AIE. 

iron — "soldieb's jot." 

I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars. 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench 
When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ; ] 
I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play 1 
And the Moro 2 low was laid at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, 
And there 1 left for witnesses an arm and a limb : 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now, though I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, 
As when I us 'd in scarlet to follow the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter 

shocks, 
Beneath the woods and rocks, oftentimes for a home ; 
When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop <ff h- — at the sound of the drum. 

EECITATIYO. 

He ended ; and the kebars 3 sheuk 

Aboon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rattons 4 backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost 5 bore : 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skirled out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid tb« loud uproar. 

AIE. 

TTTWE — "SOLDIEB Li/JDIE.** 

1 once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young men : 

1 Qnebec, where Wolfe fell. 

* A Spanish castle taken by the English army, in 1762. 8 Rafter*. 

* Eats. 5 Innermost. 



THE JOLLY BEGGi.fi 73 

Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal. &c. 
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade ; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy , 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &e. 
But the goodly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
So the sword I forsook for the sake of the church 
He ventured the soul, and I risked the body, 
'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of the sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair ; 
His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, <fcc. 

And now I have liv'd — I know not how long, 
And still I can join in a cup or a song ; 
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, 
Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

EECITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk, 

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 
They mind't na wha the chorus took, 

Between themselves they were sae bizzy , 
At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy, 

He stoitered 1 up an' made a face ; 
Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy, 

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace* 

AIR. 

TTJNK — "ATJLD SIE SIMON." 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 
Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 

He's there but a 'prentice I trow, 
But I am a fool by profession. 

1 Staggered. 



r 



4 



BUESS. 



My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
And I held awa to the school ; 

I fear I my talent misteuk, 
But what will ye hae of a fool ? 

For drink I would venture my neck- 
A hizzie's the halfo' my craft; 

But what could ye other expect, 
Of tine that's avowedly daft? 

1 ance was ty'd up like a stirk, 1 
For civilly swearing and quaffing ; 

I ance was abused i' the kirk, 
For touzling a lass i' my daffin. 2 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
. Let naebody name wi' a jeer ; 
There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the Court, 
A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad 
]Maks faces to tickle the mob ; 

He rails at our mountebank squad, 
It's rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I'll tell, 
For faith I'm confoundedly dry ; 

The chiel that's a fool for himsel', 
Gude Lord, is far dafter than I. 

EECITATIVO. . 

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, 8 
"Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling 
For monie a pursie she had hooked, 
And had in monie a well been ducked ; 
Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa the waefu' woodie ! 4 
Wi' sighs aud sabs, she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman i 

AIE. 

TUNE— "O, AN' TE WEEE DEAD, GUIDMAW." 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn : 
But he still was faithful to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman, 

t Bollock. 2 Merriment. 3 Stout old woman. 






THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 7$ 



CHORUS. 

Sing, hey, my braw John Highlandman ! 
Sing, ho, my braw John Highlandman ! 
There's no a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman. 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
And gude claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lawian face he feared nane, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him a* the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every ane, 
They've hang'd my braw John HighlandmaB* 
Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

EECITATIVO. 

A pigmy Scraper wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, 1 

Her strappin limb and gaucy 2 middle 

(He reach'd nae higher), 
Had holed his heartie like a riddle, 

And blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, ane, twa, three, 

» Play. » Jolly. 



76 BTTBN8. 

Then, in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set aff, wi' Allegretto glee, 

His giga solo. 

AIR. 

TTT1TB— "WHIST&E O'EB THE LAVE O'*." 

Let me ryke 1 up to dight 2 that tear, 
And go wi' me and be my dear, 
And then your every eare and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHOEUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle o'er the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be there, 
And oh ! sae nicely 's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about, till Daddie Care 
Sings Whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke,* 
And sun oursels about the dyke, 
And at our leisure, when ye like, 
We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c, 

But bless me wi* your heav'n o' charms, 
And while I kittle 4 hair on thairms, 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

EECITAT1V0. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,* 

As well as poor gut-scraper ; 
He tak3 the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a rusty rapier — 

He swoor, by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he wad from that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 

» Roacn. * Wipe 3 Pick. * While I apply hair to catgut. -—ChamberSt 

5 Gipsy. 



THE JOLLY BEGGAES. 71 

Wi* ghastly ee, poor Tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunters bended, 
And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face, 

And sae the quarrel ended. 

But tho' his little heart did grieve 

When round the tinkler prest her, 
He feign'd to snirtle 1 in his sleeve, 

When thus the Caird address'd her: 



AIE. 

TUNE— "CLOUT THE CAUDEON." 

My bonnie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station ; 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation ; 
IVe ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and caprin, 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron ; 
And by that stoup, my faith and houp, 

And by that dear Kilbagie, 2 
If e'er ye want, o^ meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie. 3 

And by that stoup, &c. 

EECITATIVO. 

The Card prevail 'd — th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces junk, 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, 

And partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That show'd a man o' spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair, 

And made the bot Je clunk, 

To their health that night* 

Laugh. « A peculiar sort oi whisky. 5 Throat, 



7H »C7BN3. 

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie, 3 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, 

Ahint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft, 

Tho' limping wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd 2 up, and lap like daft, 

And shor'd 3 them Daintv Davie 

O' boot that night 

He was a care-def\'ing blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish, but — to be glad, 

jS"or want but — when he thirsted ; 
He hated nought but — to be sad, 

And thus the Muse suggested 

His sang that night. 

AIB. 

TUNE — "FOB a' THAT, AITD A' THA?."* 

I am a bard of no regard 

Wi' gentlefolks, an' a' that ; 
But Homer-like, the glowrin byke, 4 

Frae town to town I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as meikle's a' that ; 

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin*, 
I've wife enough for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank, 5 

Castalia's burn, an* a' that : 
Bur there it streams, and richly ream@, 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 
Their humble slave, an' a' that ; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Ihrjck. 2 Crept. » Threatened. * Staring crowd, PooL 



THE JOLLY BEGGAltS. 79 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

"WY mutual love, an' a' that ; 
But for how lang the flie may stang, 

Let inclination law that. 

For a* that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, 
They've ta'en me in, and a' that ; 

^ut clear your decks, and " Here's the Sex !" 
I like the jads for a' that. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as meikle's a* that, 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 
They're welcome till't, for a' that. 

BECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and NansieV wa's 
Shook with a thunder of applause, 

E-e-echo'd from each mouth ; 
They toom'd 2 their pocks, an' pawn'd their duda,* 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, 4 

To quench their lowan 5 drought. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack, an' wale 6 a sang, 
A ballad o' the best ; 
He, rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, and found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 

AI2. 

IUSTE— "JOLLY KOSTALS, FILL TOIHl GLASSES.** 

See ! the smoking bowl before us, 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ; 
Hound and round take up the chorus, 

And in raptures let us sing : 

l Poosie ITansie, otherwise Agnes Gibsovi, kept a sort of cadger's house, 
early opposite to the church-yard gate in Manchline. We are told by the 
tograpners of Burns, that passing t>y the house, one night, in the company 
f James Smith, he was allured by the mirthful uproar to go in and join tof 
rew. The Cantata gives the poetical experience of the night. 

3 Emptied. * Bags. < Tails. 

8 Flaming. 6 Choose. 



80 BOBKS. 

CHORUS. 

A fig for tliose by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the prieri. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where ! 

A fig, <fcc. 

With the ready trick and fable, 
Round we wander all the day ; 

And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Thro' the country lighter rove ? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love P 

A fig, <fcc. 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 

Let them cant about decorum, 
Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! 

Here's to all the wandering train ! 
Here's our ragged brats and callets ! 

One and all cry out, Amen ! 

A fig, &c. 



THE A OLD FARMER'S NEW- YEAR MORNING- SALUTA- 
TION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE, ON GIVING 
HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEJ 
IN THE NEW YEAR. 

A guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a ripp 1 to thy auld baggie : 
Tho' thou's howe-backit 2 now, an' knaggie, 3 

I've seen the day, 
Thou could hae gane like onie staggie 

Out-owre the lay. 

s aamUul. * Sunk in the back. » Sharp -pointed- 



THE AULD FAEMEE'S SALUTATION, 81 

Tho' now thou's dowie, 1 stiff, an* crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie, 
IVe seen thee dappl't, sleek, an' glaizie, 

A bonnie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 
Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, 2 steeve, 3 an' swank, 4 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out owre a stank,* 

Like onie bird. 
It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher 6 clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 7 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 8 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 9 

That day, ye pranc'd wi* muckle pride, 
When ye bure 10 hame my bonnie bride ; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Xyle Stewart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow 11 but hoyte and hobble, 
An' wintle like a saumont-coble, 1 * 
That day ye was a j inker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble, 18 

Far, far behin\ 

When thou an' I were young and skeigh, 14 
An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, 15 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an skreigh 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, 16 

An' ca't thee mad. 

1 Worn out. 2 Stout-made. 3 Strong-set. * Stately. 5 Morass, 

6 Marriage portion. 7 Stout. 8 Unlucky. 9 Easily handled. 

*• Did bear. " Can. 12 Salmon fishing boat. w Eeel. 

l * High-mettled. 15 Tedious. 16 At a safe distance. 

G 



82 BTTBNS. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, 
TVe took the road ay like a swallow : 
At JBrooses 1 thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, 2 hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins 3 waur't thee for a brattle ; 4 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 

An' gart them whaizle : 
!N*ae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan', 5 

As e'er in tug 6 or tow" was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, 8 an' fech't, 9 an fiiskii, 3 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, 

WT pith an* pow'r, 
Till spritty knowes 11 wad rair't and riskit, 

An' slypet 12 owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep. 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog 13 a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I ken'd my Maggie wadna sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 

The steyest 14 brae thou wad hae face't it ; 

Thou never lap, 15 an' sten't, 16 and breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing has tit, 

Thou snoov't 17 awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn- time a' : 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 

1 A hroose is a race at a wedding. 

* That droops at the crupper. 3 Perhaps. 4 Short rue. 

5 The near horse of the hindmost pair in the plough. 

* Traces of hide. 7 Kope. 8 Plunged forward. 9 Pulled by fit*, 

io Fretted. u Eushy hillocks. 12 Fell over. 

13 Manger. n Steepest. 15 Leaped. 

** Heared. 17 Went at an even pace. 



TO a MOUSE. 83 

Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou Las nurst : 
They drew me thretteen 1 pund an' twa, 

The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk 2 we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warF fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart, 3 I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither; 
We'll toyte 4 about wi' ane anither ;- 
Wi' ten tie care I'll nit thy tether 

To some hain'd 5 rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax 6 your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST f 
WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785 s ' 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie. 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 9 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle !* 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal!' 

l Thirteen. 2 Day's labour. 3 Eighth part of a bushel, 

4 Totter. 5 Spared. e Stretch. 

7 A farm-servant, lately living, wad driving the plough, which Burns held, 

rhen a mouse ran across the field. The man's first impulse was to rush after 

nd kill it; but the poet stopped him, and soon turning thoughtful, th* 

~sea were conceived and born. 

8 Hurry, 9 Instrument for clearing the plough. 

o 2 



84 BUR^S. 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A dairnen-icker 1 in a thrave 

'S a sma' request : 
I'll get ablessin wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 

Thy Tree bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ! 
An' naething, now, to big 2 a new ane, 

O' foggage green ! 
An* bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell 3 an' keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
An' weary winter eomin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 4 
To thole 5 the winter's sleety dribble, 

An' cranreuch 6 cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 7 
Tn proving foresight may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o' mice an* men, 

Gang aft a-gley, 8 
An* lea'e us nought but grief and pain, 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 

1 An ear of con) now and then ; a thrave is twenty-four sheaves. 

* Build. 3 Bitter. * Without abiding place. 5 Endure. 6 Hoar-frost 

T Thvself alone. 8 Wrong. 



A WINTER NIGHT 

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loop'd and window' d raggedness, defend yorif 

From seasons such as these ? 

Shakspeare. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure, 1 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, 

Far south the lift, 2 
Dini-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, 

Or whirling drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths 3 up-choked 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, 4 

Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning the doors an* winnocks 5 rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie 6 cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war, 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, 7 sprattle, 8 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing 9 bird, wee, helpless thing ! 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee P 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy cluttering 10 wing, 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, 

Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 

The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muifl'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 

Sullen. 2 The sky. 3 Drifted heaps of snow. * Flung oat, 

5 Windows. * Shivering. 7 Deep wadHg. 

• Scramble. • Hopping. "> Shivering. 



86 BoSKS. 

Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 
Hose in my soul, 

When on 1317 ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole— * 

" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
Not all your rage, as now united, shows 
IMore hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
Vengeful malice, unrepenting, 
Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestows I 
See stern Oppression's iron grip, 
Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ! 
Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
How pamper'd Luxury, Platt'ry by her side, 
The parasite empoisoning her ear, 
"With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
Looks o'er proud property, extended wide ; 
And eyes the simple rustic hind, 

Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 
A creature of another kind, 
Some coarser substance, unrehn'd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below! 
Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, 
With lordly Honour's lofty brow, 

The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

To bless himself alone ! 
Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

To love-pretending snares, 
This boasted Honour turns away, 
Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 
Kegardless of the tears, and unavailing pray'rs ! 
Perhaps, this hour, in mis ry's squalid nest 
She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast I 
Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
Peel not a want but what yourselves create, 
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
Ill-satisfied keen nature's clam'rous call, 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. R7 

Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

Chill o'er his shimbers, piles the drilty heap ! 

Think on the dnngeon's grim confine, 

"Where GJ-nilt and poor Misfortune pine ! 

Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 

[But shall thy legal rage pursue 

The v retch, already crushed low 

By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ; 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 1 

But deep this truth impress'd my mind — 

Thro' all His works abroad, 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 2 A BROTHER POET. 

January, 1784. 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
Arid bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 3 
I set me down, to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In namely, westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla-lug, 4 
I grudge a wee the great folk's gift^ 
That live sae bien 5 an' snug s 
I tent 8 less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 

1 Crow. 

* Davie was David Sillar, the author of a book of Scottish verses. Gitoert 
Burns writes respecting his brother : — It was, I think, in summer, 1784, 
when, in the interval of harder labour, he and I were weeding in the garden 
(kail-yard), that he repeated to me the principal part of this Epistle. % 
believe the first idea of Robert's becoming author was started on this occa« 
oion. 

3 Fire-piace. * To the parlour hearth. 5 Plentiful. 6 Head, 



S3 BUBXB. 

It's hardly in a body's pow r, 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't j 1 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash* 2 your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and tier : 3 
" ATair spier na, nor fear na," 4 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg,* 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only for to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin. 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could mak us bJest ; 
Ev n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a tastc- 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae &' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However fortune kick the ba', 6 
Has aye some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find stili, 

A comfort this nae sina' ; 
I^ae mair then, we'll care then, 
!N~ae farther can we fa'. 

What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and wood3, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit and sowth 7 a tune ; 
Syne 8 rhyme till't, 9 we'll time tilTt, 
And sing't when we hae done. 



[-vcid it. * Tremble. 


3 Sound, 


* flamsay.— E. B. 5 Fig. 


« Ball. 


' Whistle over. * Then* 


» To it. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 89 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bant, 

To purchase- peace and rest 
It' no in making mucklc mair: 
t's no in books ; it's no in lear,* 

To make us truly blest : 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 
Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy laug ; 
The heart aye's the part aye, 
That maks us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

"Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an* dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent 2 us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless, 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill, 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 1 

* Letiiiing. * Heed. ■ Carcte, 



i 



30 BURNS. 

And flat-fry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and 1 , 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy 5 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, 1 your dearest pari. 
And 1 my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 2 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

O all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When he art- corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent pray'r ; 
Still take her, and make lier 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrinc scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie, or my Jean. 

O, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin, 3 rank and file, 

* " Meg" was Margaret Orr, the nursery-maid of Mrs. Stewart of Stair.— 
A.C. 

* Adds fuel. * Marching lightly. 



THE LAMENT 91 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet 1 Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch, 2 and stilt, and jimp, 
An' rin an unco fit : 

Bat lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight 3 now 
His sweaty, wizen'd 4 hide. 



THE LAMENT. 5 

OCCASIONED BY" THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OP A FRIEND* S AUOXTSU 

A' »s ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 
And Sweet Affection prove the spring of woe ! 

Some, 

thou pale Orb, that silent shines, 
While care -untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Tkou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

"With woe I nightly vigils keep, 
Beneath thy wan un warming beam ; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 

J joyless view thy rays adorn 
The faintly -marked, distant hill : 

1 joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease J 
Ah I must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace 2 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 

No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 

i Spavined. 2 Hobble. 3 Wipe. 4 Shrunk. 

* It is scarcely necessary to mention, that " The Lament" was composed 
on that unfortunate passage in his matrimonial history, which I have men- 
tioned in my letter to Mrs. Diuilop, after the first distraction of his feelings 
had a little subsided.— G. B. 



92 BTTKNS. 

The pliglited faitli ; the mutual flame: 
The oft attested pow'rs above ; 

The promis'd Father's tender name : 
These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flown ! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms. 

For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast? 
And does she heedless hear my groan? 

And is she ever, ever lost? 

Oli ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress f 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less P 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy 'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow, 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore harass'd out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief 5 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, 

Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore affright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 



DESPONDENCY. 93 

O ! thou bright Queen, who o'er the expanse 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To marie the mutual-kindling eye. 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again 1 feel, again I burn ! 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I wander thro' ; 
And hi ^eless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY. 

AN ODE. 

Oppress'd with grief, oppressed with care* 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh : 
O life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view, 
What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
Bat with the closing tomb ! 

Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd, 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night. 

And joyless morn the same ; 



94 BUEXS. 

You, bustling, and justling, 
Forget each grief and pain ; 

I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 

"Within his humble cell, 
The cavern vrild Avith tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought 
A faint-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising, 

His thoughts to Heav'n on high, 
As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But, ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary can despise, 

Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish * 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage .! 
The fears all, the tears 
Of dim-declining age i 




THE COTIER'S SATURDAY >'1GHT. 



95 
WINTEE. 

A DIEGE. 

The wintery west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down. 

And roars frae bank tc brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," 1 

The joyless winter-day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

]My griefs it seems to join : 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want (Oh ! do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 



THE COTTEE'S SATURDAY 3STGHT. 

INSCEIBED TO EOBEET AIKEN, ESQ.,* OF AYB. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
1*1 or Grandeur hear, -with a disdainful smile, 

The short but simple annals of the Poor.— Gray. 

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end : 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise - 

i Dr. Young.— R. B. 
a Mr. Aiken was *i "writer" in Ayr; Gilbert Earns affectionately notices 
im in a letter to Curri , as a man of worth and taste, and warm affection* 
" who eagerly spread amorge his triecd* the merits <?i the new Poet. 



96 



halts** 



To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 

The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 

Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier thext I wee.. 

November chill blaw3 loud wi' angry sugh ;' 

The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the plengh : 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward ;end. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher 2 thro*, 

To meet their Dad, wi' fhchterin 3 noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clane hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smie, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 

Belyve, 4 the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; s 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie 6 rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, lore sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

WT joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 
An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers : 

The social hours, swift-wiug'd, unnoticed fleet j 
Each tells the uncos" that he sees or hears ; 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Eushing sound. * Stagger. 8 Fluttering. 4 By and by. 

5 Although the " Cotter," in the Saturday ZSTiglit, is an exact copy of my 

father in his manners, his family devotions, and exhortations, vet the 

~>ther parts of the description do not apply to our family. None of us ever 

^ere " At service out amang the neebors roun." Instead of our depositing 

it " sair-won penny lee" with our parents, my father laboured hard, and 

I with the most rigid eeonomv, that he might be able to keep his childi«B 

a: home.— Gilbert Bums to Dr. Currii, Oct. 24, 1800. 

* Cautious. ■ Vo *i 



■THE COTTERS SATURDAY NIGHT. 97 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an* her shears, 

Gars 1 auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a* wi* admonition due. 

Their master's an* their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent 2 hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or plaj* - 
" An', oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway, 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night* 
Lest in. temptation's path ye gang astray, 

Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright !" 

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e and flush her cheek ; 
Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 

While Jenny hafflins 3 is afraid to speak ; 
Wee! pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild worthless 
rake. 

Wi* kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks 4 of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 

But, blate 5 and laithfu', 6 scarce can weel behave ; 
The woman, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lavr. ? 

O happy love ! where love like this is found 1 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare— 
u If Heav'n a draught of heav'nly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
leneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning 
gale !" 

1 Makes. * Diligent. * Half. * Talks 

5 Bashful. 6 Sheepi9b. * The rest. 

H 



9H EUENS. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then pants the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild! 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, 

The halesome parriteh, chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only hawkie 1 does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan 2 snugly chows her cood; 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd 3 kebbuck, 4 fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 'twas a towmond 5 auld, sin' lint was i' the beli. 9 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets 7 wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales 8 a portion with judicious care ; 
And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air, 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: 
Perhaps " Dundee's " wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive " Martyrs," worthy of the name; 
Or noble " Elgin " beets the heav'nward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian thrills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
ISTae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 

Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
"With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 

Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie 

Cow. 2 Partition wall. 3 Well-saved. * Chews, 

6 A twelvemonth. 6 Since the flax was in flower. 

7 <' rev locks. 3 Choowea. 






THE COTTER'S SATITItDAr NIGHT. 99 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed $ 
How He, who bore in Heav'n the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay His head : 
How His first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bablon's doom pronounced by Heav'n * 
command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing," 1 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart, 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul ; 
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way 5 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, 
That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride ; 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best 

For them, and for their little ones provide , 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

1 Pope's " Windsor Forest."— R. "R. 
H 2 



100 bfe^s. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings ; 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God :" 
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness reiin'd ! 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent . 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! 
And, oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 

O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That streamed thro' "Wallace's undaunted heart ; 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
O never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOUKN; 

A DIRGE. 

When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 

1 Several of the poems were produced for the purpose of bringing forward 
some favourite sentiment of the author. He used to remark to me, that he 
could not well conceive a more mortifying picture of human life than a man 
seeking work. In casting about in his mind how this sentiment might be 
brought forward, the elegy, " Man was made to mourn," was composed, 
— G.B. 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOTTEN. 101 

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou P 

Began the rev'rend sage ; 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of Man. 

The sun that overhangs yon rnoora, 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
Ive seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force give nature's law, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right. 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn ; 
Then age and want, oh ! ill-match' d paiy ! 

Show Man was made to mourn. 

A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land 

Are wretched and forlorn. 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselvei, 

Begret, remorse, and shame ! 



102 BUKNS. 

And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn 1 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave — 

By Nature's law design'd, — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'? 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

Yet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of bnman kind 

Is surely not the last. ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompenc© 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

O death ! the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best * 
Welcome the hour my aged Jimos 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary -laden mourn I 1 

* \Vhatever might be the casual idea that set the poet to work, it ia but 
too evident that he wrote from the habitual feelings of his own bosom. The 
indignation with which he contemplated the inequality of human condition, 
and particularly the contrast between his own worldly circumstances and 
intellectual rank, was never more bitterly nor more loftily expressed, than 
in some of these stanzas.— Loclchaurt* 



103 



A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.' 

O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that thou hast formed me, 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness lias come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

"No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ! 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between. 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms , 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms : 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence !" 
Fain promise never more to disobey; 

But, should my Author health again dispense, 
Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 

Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

1 Burns has entitled his verses, "A prayer, when fainting fits, and otiife* 
farming symptoms ot pleurisy, or some other dangerous disorder, which 
indeed still threatens me, first put nature on the alarm." 

2 August, [1784,] Misgivings in the hour of Despondency and Prospect 
»f Death 



104 bums. 

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for Heav'nly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter Heav'nly mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation rau. 

O Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can mate the tempest cease to blew, 

And still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, 

Those headlong furious passions to confine, 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
0, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



LYIN T G AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, 
THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING- VERSES IN 
THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 1 

O Thou dread Pow'r, who reign'st above ! 

I know Thou wilt me hear ; 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 

Long, long, be pleas'd to spare; 
To bless his little filial flock, 

And show what good men are. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
Oh, bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youta, 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish. 

The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand, 

Guide Thou their steps alway. 

1 The first time Robert heard the spinnet played upon was at the house 
of Dr. Lawrie, then minister of the parish of Loudon, now in Glasgow, 
having given up the parish in favour of his son. Dr. Lawrie has several 
daughters ; one of them played ; the father and mother led down the dance ; 
the rest of the sisters, the orother, the poet, and the oth°r guests, mixed in 
it. It was a delightful family scene for our poet, then lately introduced tc 
the world. His mind was roused to a poetic enthusiasm, and the Stauzaa 
were eft in the room where he slept. — G-. B. 






THE FIBST PSALM. 105 

When soon or late they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in Heav'n ! 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

The man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

!Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

"Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his G-od. 

That man shall nourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he, whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And like the rootles stubble tost, 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT 
ANGUISH. 1 

O Thou Great Being ! what Thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
jfet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 



March, 1784. 

1 There was a certain period of my life that my spirit was broke bj 
jpeated losses and disasters, which threatened, and indeed effected, the 
atter ruin of my fortune. My body too was attacked by that most dreadful 
disorder, a hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy. In this wretched state, 
the recollection of which makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on tha 
willow trees, except in some lucid intervals- in oiie of which I composed th» 
ioilowing. — B. B. 



106 BURNS. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 
All wretched and distrest ; 

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
Obey Thy high behest. 

Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears. 

Or close them fast in death I 

But if I must afflicted be, 
To suit some wise design ; 

Then man my soul with firm resolve* 
To bear and not repine ! 



1FHE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself, 

Arose at Thy command ; 

That pow'r, which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years, 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word ; Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought !" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood thou tak'st them oif 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'*, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night cut down, it lies 

All wither'd and decay 'd. 




ThE MOUNTAIN rAISY. 



107 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

&a TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786.* 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie Lark, 2 companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet ! 

Wi' spreckl'd breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, 
But thou, beneath the random bield 3 

O' clod, or stane, 
Adorns the histie 4 stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray 'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

i The Daisy grew in the field next to that in which the plough had turned 
ap the mouse's nest. 

2 I have seldom met with an image more truly pastoral than that of the 
lark in the second stanza. Such strokes as these mark the pencil of the poet, 
which delineates Nature with the precision of intimacy, yet with the delicate 
colouring of beauty and taste. — H. Mackenzie, in *' The Lounger," No. 97. 
» Shelter. * Dry. 



108 BURNS. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er i 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'iu 
By human pride or cunning driv'n 

To mis'ry's brink, 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry ^tay but Heav'n, 

He, ruin'd, sink I 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Kuin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom ! 



TO RUIN. 1 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction -breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of griof and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-res olv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'ring, and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thick 'ning and black'ning 
Hound my devoted head. 

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appall' d, afraid ; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care ! 

i I have here enclosed a small piece, the very latest of my productions. 
I am a good deal pleased with some sentiments myself, as they are just the 
native querulous feelings of a heart which, as the elegantly melting Gray 
says, "Melancholy has marked for her own."— To Mr. Kennedy, April 20, 
1786. 



TO MISS LOGAN. ]<# 

When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day : 
My weary heart its throbbing cease, 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
JSo fear more, no tear more, 

To stain my lifeless face, 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



TO MISS LOGAtf, WITH BEATTIE'S POEMS, 

AS A NEW YEAE*S GIFT, JANUARY 1, 1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n, 

And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, 
Are so much nearer Heav'n. 

"No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true ; 
But may, dear Maid, each lover prove 

An Edwin still to you ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FEIEND. 1 

may, 1786. 

I lang hae thought, my youthfu* friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae ither end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps, it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye '11 try the world soon, my lad, 

And Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 

» Andrew Aiken, of Ayr, son of the friend to whom Burns inscribed ,e The 
Cotter's Saturday Night." 



110 BUBNg-. 

For care and trouble set your thought, 
Ev'n when your end's attained ; 

And a' your views may come to nought, 
Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

I'll no say, men are villains a* ; 

The real, harden* d wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few res tricked: 

But, Och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha 1 fa' 2 in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith 3 hourly stare him; 
A man may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Aye free, aff-han' 4 your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek 5 thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe 6 o' weel-plac'd love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it; 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard o' concealing ; 
But. Och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justify'd by honour ; 
Hot for to hide it in a hedge, 

Xor for a train attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

» Vihi. * Fail. * Poverty. « Off-hand. 3 Peep. « FfcxiC, 



ON A SCOTCn BARD. IIS 

The fear o' hell's a hangman 's whip, 
To baud the wretch in order ; 

But where ye feel your honour grip, 
Let that aye be your border ; 

Its slightest touches, instant pause- 
Debar a* side pretences ; 

And resolutely keep its laws, 
Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature ; 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist-laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended I 

"When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or, if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 

Adieu, dear, amiable Youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed,** 

Still daily to grow wiser ; 
And may you better reck the rede, 1 

Than ever did th' Adviser ! 



ffl A SCOTCH BAKD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A* ye wha live by sowps 2 o' drink, 
A* ye wha live by crambo-clink, a 
A' ye wha live an' never think, 

Come mourn wi' me I 
Our billie's 4 gien us a' a jink, 5 

An' owre the sea. 

* Heed the counsel. s Spoonsful. 3 Kbymes. * Our bretoer.- 

5 Dodge. 



112 BTTEKf. 

Lament him a' ye rantin core, 1 
Wha dearly like a random-splorc, 1 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, 

In social key ; 
For now he's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the sea S 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him. 
And in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless hiia 

Wi* tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

that's owre the sea ! 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou ta'en aff some drowsy bummle, 1 
Wha can do nought but fyke 4 an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg 5 as ony wumble, 6 

That's owre the sea ! 

Auld, cantie ~K.jle 7 may weepers wear, 
An' stain them w¥ the saut, saut tear ; 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders 8 flee ; 
He was her Laureat monie a year, 

That's owre the sea ! 

He saw misfortune's cauld Nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jiilet 9 brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a berth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock,* 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 11 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't 12 his hurdies in a hammock, 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding, 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a r that he took pride in. 

That's owre the sea. 

« Corns. 2 Riot. s Blunderer. * Fuss. 5 Sharp. 6 A wimble, 

7 Kilmarnock. 8 Shreds. 

* Jilt, "> Staff. u Meal and water. « Wrapper 



TO i. HAGGIS. 113 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
An' hap 1 him in a cozie biel ;* 
Yell find him ay' a dainty chiel, 

And fu' o' glee i 
fie wad na wrang'd the vera deil, 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie I 
Your native soil was right ilLwillie; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,* 

Tho' owre the seal 



TO A HAGGIS. 4 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, 5 or thairm # 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant lull, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro* your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic Labour dight, 6 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich I 

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive. 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd 7 kytes 8 belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, 9 

"Bethankit''hums. 

* Cover. s Shelter. 8 Diminutive of gill. 

A dish which is only known or relished in Scotland. It is sail to I j 
posed of minced mutton, oatmeal, and suet; but a Southron reader will 
desire a particular receipt. 

'■> Small entrails. 6 Wipe. 7 Swelled. * Stomachs. » Burst* 

I 



114 BUBNS. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout, 

Or olio that wad staw 1 a sow, 
Or fricassee wad roak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner, 2 
Looks down wi* sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ! 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless 3 as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank a guid whip -lash, 

His nieve 4 a nit ; 5 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie 6 nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sued, 7 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out then' bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae s kinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 8 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer^ 

Gie her a Haggis. 



A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Expect na, Sir, in this narration 

A fleechin, 9 fleth'rin Dedication. 

To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, 

An' sprung o' great an' noble blind, 

Because ye're surnam'd like His Grace, 

Perhaps related to the race ; 

Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye* 

Wi* mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 

Set up a face, how I stop short 

For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
IMaun please the great folk for a wamefou ; 11 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 

3 Surfeit. 2 Loathing. 8 Weak. * Fist. * Kol 

f Ier:e. 7 Lop. 8 Splashes in wooden dishes. 

s . c ryp]:c»ting. 10 Flatt^ing. u &%!riL 



A DEDICATION. US 

And when I downa yoke a naig, 1 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an* that's nae flatt'rin, 
It's just sic Poet, an' sic Patron. 

The Poet, some guid angel help him, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp 2 him ! 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
• But only he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me), 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just — nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, i 

What ance he says he winna break it ; 
Aught he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in either. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that 5 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naetliing but a milder feature 
Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt nature : 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That's he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
It's no thro' terror of damnation ; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust it 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack 5* 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 

Steal thro' a winnock 4 frae a 

But point the rake that taks the door ; 

* Eoree. 2 BtrSte. * An old Scotch coin. ' Windoi/ 

i 2 



116 BUENS. 

Be to the poor like onie whunstane,* 
And Laud their noses to the grunstane, 
Ply ev'ery art o' legal thieving ; 
Nae matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half-mile grace« 5 
Wi' weel-spread looves, 2 an' lang, wry faces; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, 
!b'or gumlie 3 dubs 4 of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heav'n commission gies him : 
While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever- deep 'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my Dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them, Sir, to you : 
Because (you need na tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yourseL 

Then patronize them wi' your favour, 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist said, ever pray : 
But that's a word I need na say : 
For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 
I'm baith dead-sweer, 5 an' wretched ill o't; 6 
But I'se repeat each ^or man's pray'r, 
That kens or hears about you, Sir, — 

" May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 

Whmatone. a Hands. 5 Muddy. * Ponda. 5 Extremely aver&d. *Of& 






A DEDICATION. 117 

May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
May Kennedy's far honoured name 
Lang beet 1 his hymeneal flame; 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonnie lasses round their table, 
And seven braw fellows, stout and able, 
To serve their King and Country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual rays, 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe, 2 
"When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last sad mournful rites bestow I" 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours, 
Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Pow'rs above prevent) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended iu his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor P 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n ! 
While recollection's pow'r is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of fortune's strife, 
I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognise my Master dear, 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, Sir, your hand — my Friend and Brother ! 

* Add fuel to. • Great grandchild. 



113 



TO A , ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET 

AT CHURCH. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie I 1 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt 2 rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit 3 upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith, 4 in some beggar's haffet 5 squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl., and sprattle* 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

"Novr haud ye there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils, 7 snug an' tight ; 
JSsl, faith ye yet ! ye'il no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet : 8 

for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 9 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum I s * 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy ; u 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On 's wyliecoat : tt 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ! 13 fie, 

How daur ye do't ? 

l "Wonder. 2 Strut. s Foot. * Getaway. 

* Temple. 6 Scramble. " Ribbon-ends. 6 Gooseberry. 9 Powdef, 

10 Breech. ll An old-fashioned head-dress. 12 Flannel vest. 

w A bonnet, named after Lunardi, whose balloon made him note nous 

Scotland about 17S5. 



U3 12 



ADDKE3S TO EDINBURGH. 119 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An* set your beauties a' abread ! 
I r e little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's 1 makin ! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 

* wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us ? 

And ev'n Devotion ! 



ADBEESS TO EDHSTBUEGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd now'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod j 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes. 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind,- 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim : 
And ne^er may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn^, 
Gray as the gilded summer §ky, 

Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn > 
Hear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 

1 The shrivelled dwarf. 



120 BUHN8. 

Fair Burnet 1 strikes th' adoring eye, 
Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine* , 

I see the Sire of Love on high, 
And own his work indeed divine ! 

There watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar : 
Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar s 
The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 

Grim -rising o'er the rugged rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft repell'd th' invader's shock. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears* 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home: 
Alas, how chang'd the times to come ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply my sires have left their shed, 
And fae'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold-following where your fathers led ! 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and towr's, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowr's, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray 'd, 
And sinking, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

- Danghtcr of Lord Monboddo. Burns said there had not been anything 
'6\e her, in beauty, grace, and goodne3S, since Eve on the first d&> of hex 
existent*. 






121 



EPISTLE TO JOH1N- LAPEAIK, AN OLD 
SCOTTISH BARD. 1 

April 1st, 1785. 
While briers an* woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks 2 serai chin loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie 3 whiddin 4 seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-een we had a rockin, 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin : 

And there was muckle fun and jokin, 

Ye need na doubt* 
At length we had a hearty yokin 5 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl' d 6 the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 

IVe scarce heard aught describes sae weel, 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ?'* 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain 7 to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't, 

* The "Epistle to John Lapraik" was produced exactly on the occasion 

described by the author. He says in that poem, " On fasten-e'en we had a 
rockin." I believe he has omitted the word rocking in the glossary. It is a 
term derived from those primitive times, when the country-women employed 
their spare hours in spinning on the rock, or distaff. This simple implement 
is a very portable one, and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting in 
a neighbour's house; hence the phrase of going a-rocking, or with the rock. 
As the connexion the phrase had with the implement was forgotten when the 
rock gave place to the spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by both 
sexes on social occasions, and men talk of going with their rocks as well as 
women. It was at one of these makings at our hous^e, when we had twelve 
or fifteen yonng people with their rocks, that LapraiVs song, beginning, 
" When I upon thy bosom lean," was sung, and we wri informed who was 
the author. Upon this Robert wrote his first Epistle to Lapraik ; and his 
aecond in reply to his answer. — G. B. 

* Partridges. * Hare. * Running. • A bout. 

' • Thrilled. ? Very anxious. 



122 BSHN3. 

Then a* that ken'd him round declared 
He had ingine, 1 

That nane excelTd it, few cam near't, 
It was sae fine ; 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 

An' either douce or merry tale, 

Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel* 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 

Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graitli* 1 

Or die a cadger pownie's 3 death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an* gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo -jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an* rough, 
Yet crooning 4 to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer like, by chance, 

An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang ?" 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrang. 

What's a* your jargon o* your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools ; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

What sairs 5 your grammars P 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin 6 -hammers. 

1 Gemus. 2 And ge»r. s Carrier pony. * Humming, 

* serves. « Storm-breaking. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPEAIX. 123 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes, 1 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, 2 and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An* syne 3 they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek 2 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then tho' I drudge thro' dub 4 an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, though hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

for a spunk 5 o' Allan's glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear 6 eneugh for me, 

If I could get it. 

"Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve, are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 7 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

1 winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends and folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose s n 2 9 

Tho* I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to me, 

I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

For monie a plack they wheedle frae me, 

At dance or fair ; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me 

They weelcan spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 9 
An' hae a swap 10 o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

» Louts. 2 Cows. 3 Then. *Pona. 5 A spftrtk 

* Learning. 7 Full. 8 Praise. » Meet. 10 Exchange. 



24 BI7RNS. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatt* 
An' kirsen 1 hira wi' reekin water : 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 2 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa ye selfish warly 3 race, 

Wha think that havins. 4 sense, an' grace, 

Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face, 

jfror hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
"Who hold your being on the terms, 

* Each aid the others,' 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

!My friends, my brothers ! 

But to conclude my lang epistle, 

As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 

Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 






TO THE SA^IE. 6 

April 21st, 1785. 

While new-ca'd kye 6 rout 7 at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 8 
This hour on e'eninV edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor, 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

Eor his kind letter, 

Forjesket 10 sair, wilh weary legs, 
Eattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours' bite. 
My awkwart !Muse sair pleads and begg, 

I would na write. 

1 Christen. * Hearty draught. 8 "Worldly. * G-ood manner*. 

' In answer to verses which Lapraik had sent. 
Oam*t 7 Low. s Harrow. » Evening's. l0 Jaded, 



TO THE SAME. 125 

The tapetless. 1 ramfeezl'd 2 Lizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, " Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 

This month an' mair, 
That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 

An' something sair." 

Her dowff 3 excuses pat me mad ; 

" Conscience," says I, " ye thowless 4 jad ! 

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

This vera night ; 
S5 dinna ye affront your trade, 

But rhyme it right. 

" Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 5 
Eoose you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

An' thank him kindly ! M 

Sae I gat paper in a blink, 

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it ; 
An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

By Jove, I'll prose it P 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof ; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 6 

Just clean aff-loof. 7 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle 8 up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' warp ; 

She's but a b — h. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, 9 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the Lord, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow P" 

* Foolish. 2 Tired. * Silly. * Lazy. s Cards 6 ZN'onsenae. 
i Unpremeditated. * Tickle. » Kick. 10 Can. 



iZ6 burns. 

^ow comes the sax an' twentieth simmer, 
I've seen the hud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the linirner 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kinimer, 1 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 

Behint a kist : to lie and sklent, 8 

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent per cent, 

An' muckle wame,* 
In some bit Brugh to represent • 

A Bailie's name P 

Or is't the paughty, 5 feudal Thane, 

Wi' ruffl'd sark an 5 glancing cane, 

Wka thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en, 

As by he walks r 

u Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 

Gie me o' wit an' sense a li::. 

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi 1 cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

In a' their pride !" 

Were this the charter of our state, 
st On pain o' hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heav'n ! that's no the gate 

We learn our creed. 

Tor thus the royal mandate ran, 
When hirst the human race began, 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

And none but he !" 

O mandate dorious and divine 1 
The ragged followers of the ZN"ine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shine, 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons of ilammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

i Siitmh girl. * Counter. 5 Deceive. * Be2y, 

s Haughty. 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 127 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl. 
Their worthless nievefu' 1 of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an* joya 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 






TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, 2 

OCHILTREE. 

May, 1785. 
I gat your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie,* 

Your flatterin strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 4 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phraisin terms ye've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel, 5 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 6 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertnel'/ 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ! 
The tythe o' what ye waste at carte3 

"Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

alandful. 2 Schoolmaster of Ochiltree. s Brother, 

* Sidelong flung. 5 Be crazed. c Climb. 

» Allan liamsav and Hamilton of Gilbertfield. 



12.8 BTTltNS. 

Yet when a tale comes i' my hea \ 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 1 

As whiles they're like to be my deed, 

(O sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila, now, may fidge 2 fu' fain, 

She's gotten Poets o' her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain.* 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Tfae Poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd stile ; 
fihe lay like some unkend-of isle, 

Beside JS'ew Holland* 
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Eamsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an Tay a lift aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to nionie a tune, 

Ower Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an* Doon, 

!Nae body sings. 

Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an* Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an* fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Whare Glorious Wallace 
Aft bure 4 the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod, s 

Or glorious dy'd. 

' H«nt. * Be right plad. s Will not spare their bagpipea, 
* Did bear. 5 Walking in blood over the shoe-tops. 



SIMPSON. 129 

O, sweet are Coila's haughs 1 an' woods, 
When lintwhites 2 chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin 3 hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat crooda 4 

Wi' wailfu' cry ! 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature ! a* thy shews an' forms 

To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! 

Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night j 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand 5 her, 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The war'ly race may drudge an' drive, 
Eog-shouther, 6 jundie, 7 stretch, an' strive, — 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum 8 owre their treasure. 

Fareweel, "my rhyme-composing brither!" 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal ! 

While highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes ; 
While moorlan' herds 9 like guid, fat braxies ; w 
While terra firma, on her axis, 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an* practice, 

In Robert Burns. 

VaUeys. 2 Linnets. 3 Dodging. *Coos. 5 Found. 6 Push with the sbouMfv. 
1 Justle. 8 H"m. • Shepherds. 10 Diseased sheev- 

K 



130 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen 1 5 

I had amaist forgotten clean, 

Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this ^Tew-Light, 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but caftans* 

At grammar, logic, an' sic talents. 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid La] 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 4 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was d.one, 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 

It ne'er cam i' then* heads to doubt it, 

Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it. 

An' ca'd it wrang ; 
An' niuckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk, 1 
TVad threap 6 auld folk the thing ruisteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An 5 out o' sight, 
An' backlins'*-comin. to the leuk 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirmed ; 

The herds an' hirsels 5 were alarm'd ; 

The rev'rend gray -beards rav'd an' storm'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform' d 

Than then- auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks : 
Frae words an' aiths to clours 9 an' nicks ; 

* Pin. 2 Boys. 3 Lowland speech. 4 Shred* 

• Jtocn. * Maintain. "* Heturning. 8 Flocks. 9 Bumps. 



POSTSCRIPT. 131 

An' monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty cnmt ; l 

An* some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 9 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' Auld-light caddies bure sic hands, 
That, faith, the youngsters took the sand3 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
The lairds farbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New-light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Polk thought them ruined stick- an- stowe,* 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe 4 

Ye'll find ane plac'd ; 
An' some their New-light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the Auld-light flocks are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin ; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin 5 spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 8 
Some Auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons, 

To tak a flight, 
An* stay ae month aniang the moons, 

An' see them right. 

G-uid observation they will gie them : 

An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them, 

The hindmost shaird, 7 they'll fetch it wi' them. 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the New-light billies see them, 

1 think they'll crouch S 

Sae, ye observe that a' this clatter 

Is naething but a " moonshine matter ;* 

But tho' dull-prose folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 8 
I hope we Bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 9 

* Blew. 2 Burnt. s Totally. * Hillock. 5 Grinaiagb 

• Fellows. 7 Shred. 8 Quarrel. » A broil. 

k2 



las 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RAXKIXE, 1 ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O bough, rude, ready-witted Eankine, 
The wale- o' cocks for fun an' drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams an' trick3 
"Will send you, Koran-like, a-sinkm, 

Straught to auld tfick'g. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked., drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts. 

An' fill them fou : 
And then their failings., flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe. O dinna tear it ! 

Spare 't for their sakes wha aft en wear it, 

The lads in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives 't au° their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, 1 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naithing 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain' d for an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect, 
Yon sang, 4 yell sen 't 5 wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho', faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing! 
I've play'd mysel a bonnie spring, 

An' danc'd my fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair't 6 the kins: 

At Bunker's Hill. 

1 According to Allan Cunningham, "an ont-spoken, ready-witted mum 
•nd a little of a scoffer." 

* Choice. 3 Damaging. 

4 A song he had promised the author. — R. B. 

5 Send it. 6 Served. 

• 



EPISTLE TO JOHN EANKINE. 133 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 

An' brought a paitrick to the grun, 1 

A bonnie hen ; 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 

I straikit 2 it a wee for sport, 

Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ; 

But, Deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale 3 affair. 

Some aiild us'd hands had ta'en a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd i£ &. , 
So gat the wliissle o' my groat, 

An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An* by my pouther an' my hail, 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay, o'er moor an' dale, 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time 4 is by, 
An' the wee pouts 5 begun to cry, 
L — d, I'se hae sportin by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea ; 
Tho' I should herd the Buckskin 6 kye 

For't, in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame, 7 

Scarce thro' the feathers ; 
An* baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! s 

It pits 9 me aye as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 

Partridge to the ground. 2 Stroked. s Whole. * Hatching time. 
8 Chicks. 6 Buckskin, an inhabitant of Virginia. 

7 Belly. * And endure tbeir foolish talk. • Puts. 



134 BTTENS, 

But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time's expedient 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



WRITTEN IN FKIARS-CAKSE HERMITAGE, ON NITH-SIDE. 1 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deck'd in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
[Fear not clouds will always lour. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly dance, 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her syren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian naming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale P 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
"While cheerful Peace, with linnet song„ 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'ning close, 
Beck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, Man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate, 

1 Burns has recorded Lis composition of these verses: — "One day, in a 
hermitage, on the Banks of the Nith, belonging to a gentleman in my neigh- 
bourhood who is so good as to give me a key at pleasure, I wrote the above, 
supposing myself the sequestered venerable inhabitant of the lonely man* 
ton." — The "gentleman" was Captain Riddel. 



ode. 335 



Is not — Art thou high, or lowP 
Did tliy fortune ebb, or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span P 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one f 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find. 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n 
To Virtue, or to Vice, is giv'n. 
Say, " To be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base." 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break. 
Till future life, future no more, 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide ! 
Quoth the Beadsman of Nith-side. 



ODE, 1 SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD. 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow-weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonoured years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse I 



i Ellisland, March 23, 1788. 
The enclosed Ode is a compliment to the memory of the late Mrs, 
Oswald, of Auchencruive. You probably knew her personally, an honour 
which I cannot boast ; but I spent my early years in her neighbourhood, and 
among her servants and tenants. I know that she was detested with the 
xnost heartfelt cordiality. However, in the particular part of her conduct 
which roused my poetic wrath, she was much less blameable. In January 
last, on my road to Ayrshire, I had put up at Bailie Wigham's, in Sanquhar, 
the only tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, and the grim evening 
and howling wind were ushering in a night of snow and drift. My horse and 
I were both much fatigued with the labours of the day, and just as my friend 
the Bailie and I were bidding defiance to the storm, over » smoking bowl, in 

wheels the funeral pageantry of the late great Mrs. , and poor I am 

forced to brave all the horrors of the tempestuous night, and jade my horse, 
my young favourite horse, whom I had just christened Pegasus, twelve miles 
farther on, through the wildest muirs and hills cf Ayrshire, to New Cumnock, 
the next inn. The powers of poesy and prose sink under me, when I would 
describe what I felt. Suffice it to say, that when a good fire, at New Cum- 
nock, had so far recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down and wrote the 
enclosed Ode. — Buejts to&r. Moore, March 23. 1789. 



186 BtrBX3. 

STEOPHE. 

View the wifher'd beldam's face- 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace t 
Note that eye. 'tis rheum o'ernows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 
Hands that took — but never gave. 
Keeper of ^[amnion's iron chest, 
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest — 
She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest ! 

ANTISTEOPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 

(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends) 

Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither benda f 

lso fallen angel, huri'd from upper skies ; 

'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 

Doom'd to chare thy fiery fate, 

She, tardy, hell- ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 

Ten thousand giitt'ring pounds a year P 

In other worlds can Mammon fail, 

Omnipotent as he is here ? 
Oh, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'a ! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'r 



137 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON,* 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS 
IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

But now his radiant course is run, 
For Matthew's course was bright} 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless, Heav'nly Light. 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody 1 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie 2 . 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 8 

O'er hurcheon 4 hides, 
ind like stock-fish come o'er his stud die* 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

le's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 

ihe ae best fellow e'er was born ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel 6 shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns \ 7 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 8 

Where echo slumbers I 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat 9 kens ! 

Ye hazily shaws and briery dens ! 

Ye burnies, wimplin 10 down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 11 

Frae lin to lin. 12 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 

1 The Elegy on Captain Henderson is a tribute to the memory of a 
1 loved much. Poets have in this the same advantage as Soman Catholics ; 
they can be of service to their friends after they have passed that bourne 
where all other kindness ceases to be of any avail. — To Dr. Moore, (Feb. 28, 
1791,) who remarked, in reply, that the chief merit of the Elegy lies in its 
lively pictures of country scenes and things, which none but a Scottish poet, 
and a close observer of Nature, could have so described. 

2 Rope. 3 Smithy. * Hedgehog. 5 Anvil. 

6 Self. 7 Heaps of Stones. » Eagles. 

* Wood-pigeon. w Meandering. n Plunges. M Pool to pool* 



138 



BUKNS. 



Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bowVe ? 

Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o* flow'rs, 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head, 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed* 

I* th' rustling gale, 
Ye maukins 1 whiddiir thro' the glade.. 

Come join my waiL 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood j 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro* a clud ; 3 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He's gane for ever I 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

llair 4 for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring claver gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, 5 frae your ivy bow'r, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch 6 tow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro* the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife 7 morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty 8 strains 5 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe , 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 



1 Kares. 2 Eunning. 

6 Dismal. 



s Cloud. 
7 Wakeful. 



* Boom. « Owlfi. 

• Meny. 



THE EPITAPH. . 139 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its bead, 
Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light l 
Mourn, Empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ; the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ! 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 

The world around. 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
Bat by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae 1 best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief, — 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, m&n ; 

A look of pity hither cast, — 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

» One. 



1443 , BVRSS. 

If thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest by tkis grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart,— 
For ^Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise,- 
For Hatthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa',— 
For ^Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man ; 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain, — 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er gude wine did fear, manj 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, — 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whin gin 1 sot, 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 

May dool 2 and sorrow be his lot, — 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH 
OF SPRING. 3 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out owre the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 



1 Complaining. 2 Mourning. 

• Whether it is that the story of our Mary, Queen of Scots, has a peculiat 
efTect on the feelings of a poet, or whether I have, in the enclosed ballad, 
succeeded beyond my usual poetic success, I know not; but it has pleased 
rae beyond any effort of my muse for i good while past.— B. B. 



AA.MENT OF MART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 14X 

Now lav'rocks 1 wake tlie merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring : 
The mavis 2 mild, wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi* care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o* bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been, 
IV lightly rase I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

"Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
And where thou meet's t thy mother's friend 

Hemeruber him for me ! 

1 Larks. * Thrush. 



142 BTTENS. 

Oh ! soon, to me, may sunimer-sun§ 

Is ae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



EPISTLE TO E. GEAHAM, ESQ. 1 

When Nature her great master-piece design'd, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts the various man. 

Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth : 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth : 
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 
And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds. 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net : 
The caput mortuum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and squires ; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave design^ 
Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order'd system fair before her stood, 
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good ; 
But ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
Half-jest, she try'd one curious labour more. 
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter ; 
Such as the* slightest breath of air might scatter % 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a Poet, 
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow. 

* Bobert Graham, of Fintry, Esq.* one of the Commissioners of ExO>9* 



EPISTLE TO B. OKAHAM, ESQ. 14$ 

A feeing form'd t' amuse his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homage ends : 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live : 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work. 
Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
She cast about a standard tree to find ; 
And, to support his helpless woodbine-state, 
Attach'd him to the generous truly great, 
A title, and the only one I claim, 
To lay strong hold for help on bount'ous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train, 
Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 
Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stuff, 
That never gives — tho' humbly takes enough ; 
The little fate allows, they share as soon, 
Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 
The world were blest did bliss on them depend, 
Ah, that " the friendly e'er should want a friend !" 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
Who make poor " will do" wait upon " I should" — 
We own they're prudent, but who feels they're good P 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 
But come ye, who the godlike pleasure know, 
Heaven's attribute distinguished — to bestow ! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the human race : 
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace ; 
Priend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, 
Backward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid? 
I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 
I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 
But there are such who court the tuneful Nine — 
Heavens ! should the branded character be mine I 
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 



141 BURNS. 

Mark, how their lofty independent spirit 

Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit! 

Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 

Pity the best of words should be but ^ind ! 

So, to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends* 

But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 

In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, 

They dun benevolence with shameless front ; 

Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays, 

They persecute you all your future days ! 

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 

My horny fist assume the plough again ; 

The piebald jacket let me patch once more , 

On eighteen-pence a week I've liv'd before. 

Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare e'en that last shift ! 

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift ; 

That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, 

Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, 

My muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight. 



TO EOBEET GEAHAM, OE EINTEY, ESQ. 

Late crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, 

About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 

Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 

(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest) : 

Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 

(It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning to her tale), 

And hear him curse the light he first survey 'd, 

And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade P 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 

Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 

The lion and the bull thy care have found, 

One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground : 

Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 

Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell. — 

Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour, 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. 

Eoxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 

The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 

Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug, 

The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug. 

Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts, 

Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard ! 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. 145 

A tiling unteachable in world's skill, 

And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 

No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun 5 

No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 

No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 

And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 

No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, 

Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur ; 

In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 

He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side : 

Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 

And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics — appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame j 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ;— 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads daring into madness stung ; 
His well- won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear: 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th' unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd, 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, 
Dead, even resentment for his injur'd page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage V 

So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceas a, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son. 

O Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up ; 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder " some folks" do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snap3 the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And jim conclude that " fools are Fortune's care.** 
So. he*wy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Stronrr on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

ft 



146 BUSN§. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain: 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, Eate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one stronghold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! 
Pintry, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown, 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life ; and sooth his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 



LAMENT FOE JAMES, EAEL OF GLENCAXEN. 1 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 

Laden with years and meilde pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 2 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with year* ; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 

1 "Had the wing of my fancy been equal to the ardour of my heart, tb* 
enclosed had been much more worthy your perusal : as it is, I beg leave t-ti 
lay it at your ladyship's feet. As all the world knows my obligations to thtj 
late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish to show as openly that my heart glows, 
and shall ever glow, with the most grateful sense and remembrance of hia 
lordship's goodness. The sables I did myself the honour to wear to his lord- 
ship's memory were not the * mockery of woe/ !Nor shall my gratitude 
perish with me : — If, among my children, I shall have a son that has a heart, 
he shall hand it down to his child as a family honour and a family debt, that 
my dearest existence I owe to the noble house of Glencairn ! I was about to 
say, my lady, that if you think the poem may venture to see the light, I 
would, in some way or other give it to the world." — Lord Glencairn died 
January 30, 1791, and Bura.3 sent the " Lament" to the Earl's sister, Lady 
Elizabeth C'luningham, with a letter, of which the above passage is an ex» 
tract. 

* Oak, 



LAMENT, &C. 147 

And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro* their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

*" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
But nocht 1 in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

*** I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and rain j 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hold of earth is gane : 
ISae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

JSTae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithers 2 plant them in my room. 

•" I've seen sae mony changefu* years, 

On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
I wander in the ways of men, 

Alike unknowing and unknown ; 
Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd, 

I bear alane my lade o' care, 
For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a* that would my sorrows share. 

" And last (the sum of a* my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride, his country's stay : 
In weary being now I pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has left my aged ken, 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

The voice of woe and wild despair ! 
Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 

1 Nought. Others. 

L 4i 



148 BTJENS. 

And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That fillest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest 1 gloom 

" In Poverty's low barren vale 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round; 
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

No ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 

That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless Bard, and rustic song, 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

u Oh ! why has worth so short a date P 

While villains ripen grey with time 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ? 
Why did I live to see that day — 

A day to me so full of woe ? 
" O ! had I .met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

u The bridegroom may forget the bride, 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee j 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me ! " 



LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITB- 
FORD, BART., 2 WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly frar'st, 

To thee this votive off'ring I impart, 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

1 Darkest. 
* An early friend of Burns', who gratefully acknowledged his intei est in M» 
iate as a man, and his fame as a poet. 






TAM O SHANTEB. 149 

The Friend thou valued'st, I the Patron lov'd ; 
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown 



TAM 0' SHAISTTEE. 1 

A TALE. 
Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Bute. — Gawin Douglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy,* 
An' getting fou and unco bappy, 
We thinkna on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
G-ath'ring her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn O'Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonny lasses). 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skelium, 3 
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; 4 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was nae sober ; 
That ilka melder, 5 wi' the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton 6 Jean till Monday. 

* This poem was written to illustrate a drawing of Alloway Kirk, by Cap- 
tain Grose, in whose "Antiquities of Scotland" it was published. The poet 
versified the chief circumstances of the historical story. Gilbert Burns spe- 
cifies those of " a man riding home very late from Ayr in a stormy night, his 
seeing a light in Alloway Kirk, his having the curiosity to look in, his seeing 
a dance of witches with the Devil playing on the bagpipe to them, the 
scanty covering of one of the witches, which made him so far forget himseli 
as to cry — * Weel loupen, short sark !' with the melancholy catastrophe of 
the piece." The poet has given a fuller and racier description of the original 
scene in a letter to Grose. 

» Ale. 3 Worthless fellow. * Idle talker. 

5 Every time that corn was sent to be ground. 

1 Kirkton is the distinctive name of a village in which the parish kirk stands? 



150 icsss. 

She prophesy 'd that, late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon > 

Or eatch'd wi' warlocks 1 i' the mirk, 2 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet,* 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right ; 
East by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, 4 that drank divinely 5 
And at his elbow, S outer Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter ;. 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The souter 5 tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ! 
As bees nee harae wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure s 
Xings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ;. 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place > 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
-E vanishing amid the storm. 
!N"ae man can tether time or tide ; — 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-sta^e, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he taks the roacl in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

» Wizards. * Park. 3 Makes me weep* 

* Frothing ale. * Shoemaker. 



TAM o' SHAXTEIt. 151 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and 3ang, the thunder bellow'd ; 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit 1 on thro* dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet j 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman sm-oor'd j* 
And past the birks 3 and meikle 4 stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
And thro* the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder 'd bairn , 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods % 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore 5 the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the Devil ! 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd. 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And, wow ! Tarn saw an unco sightj 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France* 



• Went at a smart pace. 2 Smothered. 8 Birches. * Big* 
8 Hole ia the walL 



152 BURNS. 

i 

Bat hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
At winnock-bunker 1 in the east, 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
A towzie 2 tyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gie them music was his charge : 
He screw'd the pipes and gart 3 them skirl, 4 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
And by some devilish cantrip 5 slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light,— 
By which heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; e 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi* his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawful 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reek it, 
And coost her duddies 7 to the wark, 
And linket 8 at it in her sark ! 

Now Tarn, O Tarn ! had thae been queans 
A' plump and strapping in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie 9 flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen ! l0 
Thir 11 breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, 12 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 



* Window-seat. 2 Shaggy. 8 Forced. * Scream. 5 Magie. 

• Irons. 7 Clothes. 8 Tripped along. 9 Greasy. 

10 The manufacturing term for a fine linen, woven in a reed of 1700 
dtaiions. — Cromek. 

u These* ■ Loins. 



TAM O* SHANTEB. 153 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Kigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, 
Lowping and flinging on a crummock, 1 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kend what was what fu' brawlie, 
w There was ae winsome wench and walie," 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,' 
And kept the country-side in fear) 
Her cutty 3 sark, o' Paisley harn, 4 
That, while a lassie, she had worn, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. — 
Ah ! little kend thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft 5 for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches,) 
"Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was, and Strang), 
And how Tarn stood, 3 ike ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very e'en enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and mam : 
Till first ae caper, syne 6 anither, 
Tarn tint 7 his reason a* thegither, 
Aud roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark!" 
And in an instant all was dark ; 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 8 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; ? 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market- crowd, 
When, " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 

i Short staff. 2 Barley. » Short. 

• Very coarse linen. 5 Bought. 6 Then. * Lofi, 

» Bustle. • Hive. 



154 BUKNS. 

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin f 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
!Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane 1 of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettlo ;* 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle— 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

]Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son, tak heed ; 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Eemember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 



ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIOJ 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES 
OF THAT KINGDOM- 

Heae, Land o* Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's ; — 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : • 
A chield's amang you, taking notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel 4 wight, 
. O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel— 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 5 

1 It is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power 
to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running 
«tream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, 
taut when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going for* 
•rard, there is much more hazard in turning back. — K. Jo, 

* Effort;. 

* I advise you to look to it. * Plump. 5 Chalk and red clay* 



CAPTAIN geose's peeegeinations. 15S 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin, 1 

Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snng in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' deils, they say, Lord safe's ! eolleaguia 

At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha* or chamer. 

Ye gipsy -gang that deal in glamor, 

And you deep read in hell's black grammar^ 

"Warlocks and witches 5 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight bitche3. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fan than fled ; 
But now he's quat 2 the spurtle-blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And ta'en the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth 3 o' auld nick-nackets ; 
Husty aim caps and jinglin jackets, 4 
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets,* 

A towmont 6 gude, 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 

Before the Flood. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender 5 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he'll shape you aff, fu* gleg, 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding joctel^g, 7 

Or lang-kail gullie. 3 — 

* Building.— Tide his "Antiquities of Scotland."— K. B. 

2 Has quitted. s Plenty. 

4 Vide his M Treatise on Ancient Armour and Weapons." — E. J5- 

• Wails. « A twelvemonth. 7 Clasp-knife. 8 Large knifdfc 



156 BXJENS. 

But wad ye see him in his glee — 
For nieikle glee and fun has he, — 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi' him ; 
And port, O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll see him ! 

]S"ow, by the Pow'rs o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! — 
"Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee ! 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHICH A 
FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 1 

April, 1789. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 

The bitter little that of life remains ; 

"No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
JS"o more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 

1 I have just put the last hand to a little poem, -which I think will be some- 
thing to your taste. One morning lately as I was out pretty early in the 
fields sowing some grass seeds, I heard tbe burst of a shot from a neigh- 
bouring plantation, and presently a poor little wounded hare came crippling 
bj me.— K. B. 



157 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING 
HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes iEolian strains betwe en : 

While Summer, with a matron grace, 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self- approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed : 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Housing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : — 

So long, sweet Poet of the year, 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won j 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANK, A VERY YOUNG LADY ; WRITTEN 
ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK PRESENTED TO 
HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming in thy early May, 1 
Never may 'st thou, lovely Flow'r, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 

1 The " dear little Jeanie" of one of his letters; her father was a Master is 
•be Eigh School at Edinburgh. 



158 BUEXS. 

"Nov even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Hichly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings, 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOHfc 
M'LEOD, ESQ., BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, I 
PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew, 

The morning rose may blow ; 
But cold successive noontide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords, 

That Nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was forni'd, 

And so that heart was wrung. 



Dread Omnipotence, alone, 
Can heal the wound He gave; 

Can point the brimful grief- worn eyes 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
And fear no withering blast ; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happv be at last. 



159 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER 1 TO THE 
NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

My Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble Slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In naming summer-pride, 
Dry -withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly -jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They're left the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat 2 wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That to a Bard I should be seen 

"Wi 1 half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as I was he shor'd 3 me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the slielvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roarin o'er a linn : 
Enjoying larre each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 

1 am, altho' I say't mysel, 
Worth gaun 4 a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, 

And bonnie spreading bushes. 

1 Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; tra? 
their effect is much impaired by the want of tree3 and shrubs.— R. B. 

2 Wept. a Offered * GoiDg. 



160 BT7ENS. 

Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 
You'll wander on my banks, 

And listen mony a grateful bird 
Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear* 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive Autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow : 

This, too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin 1 sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat, 

From prone-descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care : 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace. 



Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild-chequering thro' the trees, 
Have to my darkly dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 
My lowly banks o'erspread, 
nd view, deep-bending in the pool* 
Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! 

* Hra. 



WHEN GTTILEOBD GOOD OTJK PILOT STO 10* 

Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close enibow'ring thorn. 

So may Old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social-flowing glasses, 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonnie lasses !" 



WHEN GUILFOED GOOD OUE PILOT STOOD. 

A FBAGMENT. 

TUNE—" GILLICBANKIE." 

When Guilford good our Pilot stood, 

An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 1 

And in the sea did jaw, 2 man ; 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man ; 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 

Was kept at Boston ha', man"; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man : 

1 Tea-pot. 
Jerk. The English Parliament having imposed an excise duty upon tea 
imported into ISorth America, the East India Company sent several sL.,;s 
laden with that article to Boston, and the natives went on board by force oi 
arwis. and emptiet the cargo into the sea. 



162 BURNS. 

Wi' sword an* gim he thought a sin 
Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 

But at New York, wi' knife an' fork, 
Sir-loin he hack'd sma', man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an* whip, 

Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought, 1 

An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague, an* Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An' lows'd his tinkler 2 jaw, man. 

Then Bockingham took up the game ; 

Till death did on him ca\ man : 
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to Gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 

They did his measures thraw, man ; 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

Then Clubs an' Hearts were Charlie's cartes 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a sair faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur them a', man !" 

behind the throne then Grenville's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
»Vhile slee Dundas arous'd the class 

Be-north the Eoman wa', man : 

1 He was able. 2 Tinker. 



An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man), 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd, "Willie, rise! 

Would I hae fear'd them a', man?" 

But, word an* blow, North, Fox, and Co., 

GowfFd 1 Willie like a ba', man. 
Till Suthrons raise, an* coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledon threw by the drone, 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid, 

To make it guid in law, man. 
# # # # # 



MY TOCHEE'S THE JEWEL. 

O meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie 

My Tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, 

My Tocher's the bargain you wad buy ; 
But an ye be crafty, I'm cunnin', 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye '11 slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And ye'U crack your credit wi' mae nor me* 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE ; WRITTEN WHEN TfctH 
AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED J3Y THAT 
DISORDER. 

My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ; 
And thro' my lugs 2 gies monie a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 
« Struck. 2 Ears. 

m2 



164 BURNS. 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or eholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Aye mocks our groan ! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets 1 keckle 

To see me loup -, 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 

O' a' the numrous human dools, 2 

111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, 

Or worthy friends rak'd i* the mools, 3 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash 4 o' fools, 

Thou bear's t the gree.* 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

In dreadfu' raw, 6 
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a' ! 

O thou grim mischief-making chiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ;— 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's Tooth'-acn& 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OYER THE CHIMNEY-PIECK 
IN THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT KENMORE, 
TAYMOUTH. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 

» Yaung girls. 2 Griefs. 8 Clods. Care. 

« The palm. « Row, 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD. 165 

My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens on my view. 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild-scattered, clothe their ample sides ; 
Th' outstretching lake, imbosom'd 'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste j 
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ■ 
The village glittering in the noontide beam 

* * # # 

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell ; 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — • 

* * * # 

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 
And look through Nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
And disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter ranklin? wounds : 
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nvvard stretch 

her scan, 
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, BORN IN 
PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRESS. 1 

Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 

And ward o' mony a prayer, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. 

** As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country." 
Fate has long owed nie a letter of good news from you, in return for the 
many tidings of sorrow which I have received. In this instance I most 
cordially obey the Apostle — " Rejoice with them that do rejoice" — for me to 
sing for joy is no new thing; but to preach for joy, as I have done in ihe 
commencement of this epistle, is a pitch of extravagant rapture to which 1 
never rose before. I read your letter— I literally jumped for joy — how could 
such a mercurial creature as a poet lumpishly keep his seat on the receipt of 
the best news from his best friend ? I seized my gilt-headed wangee rod, an 
instrument indispensably necessary, in my left hand, in the moment of in 
spiration and rapture; and stride, stride — quick and quicker — out skipped 1 
among the broomy banks of Nith* to muse over my joy by retail. To keen 



166 BURNS. 

November hirples 1 o'er the lea, 
Chill on thy lovely form ; 

And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree 
Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He, who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings the blast to blaw, 

Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 
The bitter frost and snaw. 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 
Who heals life's various stounds, 2 

Protect and guard the mother plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds. 

But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 
Fair on the summer morn : 

Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land. 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL 
OF FYERS, NEAR LOGH-NE3S. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 
The roaring F} T ers pours his mossy floods, 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 
As deep recoiling surges foam below, 
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 
And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends. 
Dim-seen, thro' rising mists, and ceaseless show'rs, 
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding lovv'rs. 
Still, thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 
And stiii, below, the horrid cauldron boils — 
* # # # 

within the bounds of prose was impossible. Mrs. Little's is a more elegant, 
but not a more sincere compliment to the sweet little fellow than I, extem- 
pore almost, poured out to him, in the following verses. "— Buaas to Mr* 
Dunlop, Nov. 17d0. 

1 Creeps. 2 Heart-pangs. 



167 



8E00ND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET. 

Atjld Neibor, 

I'm three times, doubly, o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-farrant, 1 frien'ly letter ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye natter, 

Ye speak sae fair, 
For my puir, silly, rbymin clatter 

Some less maun sair.* 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck 3 jink and diddle, 
Tae cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hairs. 

But Davie, lad, I'm red ye 're glaikit ; 4 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit ; 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as yo l sud ne'er be faiket, s 

Be hain't 6 wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 

Hivin' the words tae gar them clink ; 

Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' dxink 3 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but aye owre late, I think, 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Oommen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban, 7 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin , 
Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin' ; 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there, 
Tlien hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin', 

An' fash nae mair. 

Spacious. * Servo. s Elbow. « Inattentit*. 

• CJuknown. * Spared. 7 Swear. 



168 BURNS. 

Leeze me on rhyme I 1 it 's aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch 2 be her measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Haud to the Muse* my dainty Davie : 
The warl' may play you monie a shavie ,• 
But for the Muse, she'll never have ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' limpin' wi' the spavie 

Frae door ta door. 



THE INVENTORY; IN ANSWER TO THE USUAL MAN- 
DATE SENT BY A SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES, RE- 
QUIRING A RETURN OF THE NUMBER OF HORSES, 
SERVANTS, CARRIAGES, ETC. KEPT. 

Sie, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faith fu' list, 
My horses, servants, carts, and graith, 
To which I'm free to tak my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I ha'e four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pet tie ; 3 
My hand-afore,** a gude auld has-been, 
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been ; 
My hand-ahin, 5 a weel gaun nllie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,* 
An' your auld borough mony a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance, whan in my wooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride, 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(Lord, pardon a' my sins, an' that too !) 
I played my fillie sic a shavie, 
She 's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie. 
My fur-ahin' 's a'gude, grey beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd, — 

1 A phra?e of endearment. 2 Coarse. 

' Plongh-staff. 4 The fore-horse on the left-hand in the ploigh.— B. B. 

5 The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough. — K. I. 

• Kilmarnock.— E. B. 

' The hindmost horse on the ri^ht-hand in the plough. — I. B, 



THE INVENTORY. 169 

The fourth, a Highland Donald hastie, 

A d — d red-wud, Kilburnie blastie ; 

Forebj a Cowte, o' Cowtes the wale, 

As ever ran afore a tail ; 

If he be spar'd to be a beast, 

He'll draw me fifteen pund at least. — > 

Wheel carriages I ha'e but few, 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 
Ae auld wheelbarrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 
I made a poker o' the spindle, 
An' my auld mitlier brunt the trindle. 
For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Bun-de'ils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
A gaudsman 1 ane, a thrasher t'other, 
Wee Davoc bauds the nowte in fother. 2 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, 
An' aften labour them completely. 
An' ay on Sundays duly, nightly, | 

I on the questions targe them tightly ; 
Till faith, wee Davoc's turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. — 

I've nane in female servan' station, 
(Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation !) 
I ha'e nae wife ; and that my bliss is, 
An' ye ha'e laid nae tax on misses ; 
An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace. 
But her, my bonny sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the Ir— d ! ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
JNae kind of license out I'm takin'; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare. 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 

* Piou-h-driver. 2 Black cattle in foddee. 



170 BURNS. 

My travel a* on foot I'll shank it, 

I've sturdy bearers, G-ude be thankit *— 

The Kirk an' you may tak' you that, 

It puts but little in your pat ;* 

Sae dinna put me in your buke, 

JSot for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list wi' my ain han' I wrote it, 
Day an' date as under notit : 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Subscripsi huic, 

KoBEET BUBKS. 

Mossgiel, February 22nd, 1786. 



THE WHISTLE. 2 

A BALLAD. 

I sing- of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the Noj 4 vh, 

i Pot. 

• " The highest gentry of the county," writes Mr. J. G-. Locehart, " when- 
ever they had especial merriment in view, called in the wit and eloquence ol 
Burns to enliven their carousals. The famous song of The Whistle of Worth* 
commemorates a scene of this kind, more picturesque in some of its circum- 
stances than every day occurred, yet strictly in character with the usual 
tenor of life among this jovial squirearchy. These gentlemen, of ancient 
descent, had met to determine, by a solemn drinking match, who should 
possess the Whistle, which a common ancestor of them all had earned ages 
before in a Bacchanalian contest of the same sort with a noble toper from 
Denmark ; and the poet was summoned to watch over and celebrate the 
issue of the debate." The following is Burns' description of the prize and 
the struggle. He seems, however, to have fallen into some error as to the date : — 
" As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is curious, I shall here give 
it. — In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our 
James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature 
and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little 
ebony Whistle, which at the commencement of the orgies he laid on the 
table, and whoever was last able to blow it, everybody else being disabled by 
the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of victory. 
The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a single defeat, at 
the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the 
petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots Baccnanalians to the 
alternative of trying his prowess, or else jf acknowledging their inferiority. 
— After many overthrows on the part of t &e Scots, the Dane was encountered 
by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy Baronet 
of that name, who, after three days and fchxee nights' hard contest, left the 
Scandinavian under the table, 

* And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill.' 

" Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert, before mentioned, afterwards lost the 
Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir 
Walter. On Friday, the 16th October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the Whistle 
was once more contended for, as related in the ballad, by the present Sir 
Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton; Robert Riddel, Esq.. of Glenriddel, lineal 
descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle 
and in whose family it had continued; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq., oi 
Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Rob rt, which last gentle- 
man carried off the hard- won honours oi the field." 



THE WHISTLE. 171 

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda, 1 still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall— 
" This Whistle's your challenge, in Scotland get o'er, 
And drink them to hell, Sir, or ne'er see me more !" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Eobert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw : 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Eobert, deep- read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

"By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
'* Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More, 2 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whist: e, the prize of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame, 

Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame. 

1 See Ossian's " Caric-thura." — E. B. 
8 See Johnson's " Tour to the Hebrides."— K. B. 



172 BURNS. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy, 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were 
wet. 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Eobert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 
A high-ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Eobert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can with Fate and quart bumpers contend f 
Though Fate said, a hero should perish in light; 
So uprose bright Phoebus — and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink ! 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 

" Thy line, that have struggled for Freedom with Bruce, 

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 

The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day !" 



SKETCH. 

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX. 

How Wisdom and Folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How Virtue and Vice blend their black and their white; 
How Genius, th' illustrious father of fiction. 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction, 



SKETCH. 173 

I sing, — If these mortals, the Critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not I, let the Critics go whistle ! 

But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou, first of our orators, first of our wits, 

Yet whose parts and acquirements seem just lucky hits 

With knowledge so vast and with judgment so strong, 

No man, with the half of 'em, e'er went far wrong ; 

■,Vith passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right ; 

A sorry, poor, misbegot son of the Muses, 

For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good Lord, what is man ! for as simple he looks, 

Do but try to develope his hooks and his crooks, 

With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, 

All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the Devil. 

On his one ruling Passion Sir Pope hugely labours, 
That, like th' old Hebrew walking switch, eats up its 

neighbours : 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you know 

him? 
Pull the string, Ruling Passion the picture will show 

him. 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
One trifling particular, Truth, should have miss'd him ! 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, 

And think Human-nature they truly describe ; 

Have you found this, or t'other? there's more in the 

wind, 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan, 
In the make of the wonderful creature called Man, 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
Nor even two different shades of the same, 
Though like as was ever twin brother to brother, 
Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce with a muse, 
Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, Sir, ne'er deign to peruse j 
Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your quar- 
rels, 
Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels ° 



174 BURNS. 

My much-honour'd Patron, believe your poor Poet, 
Your courage much more than your prudence you 

show it ; 
In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle, 
He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle ; 
Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em, 
He'd up the back-stairs, and, byG- — , he would steal 'em 
Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em, 
It i* not, outdo him j the task is, out-thieve him. 



to de. blackloce:. 

Ellisland, 21st Oct. 1789. 

Wow, 1 but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit j auntie 

"Wad bring ye to . 
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron 2 south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak my letter; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth, 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear 3 on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 4 
I'm turn'd a gauger — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear 

Ye'll now disdain me ! 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' stream iea, 

1 An exclamation of pleasure. 

» Hubert Heron, who wrote a History of Scotland, and a Life of Earn* 

* Learning. 4 Brother. 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 175 

Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They maun hae brose and brats 1 o' duddies ; 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is — 

I need na vaunt 
But I'll sned 2 besoms — thraw saugh woodies,* 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithers ; 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van — 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp — in man ! 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time), 
To make a happy fire- side clime 

To weans and wife, 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a daintie chuckie, 

As e'er tread clay ! 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 

I'm yours for ay, 

Eobeet Burns. 

Hfcgi of clothes. 2 Lop. s Twist willow ropes. 

* The male, or stronger stalk of hemp. 



176 



PROLOGUE, SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND* 

JSTo song nor dance I "bring from yon great city 

That queen? it o'er our taste — the mores the pity 5 

Tho'. by-the-by, abroad why will you roam ? 

Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wish you all a good new-year ! 

Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : 

The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say, 

"You're one year older this important day.'* 

If wiser too — he hinted some suggestion, 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question ; 

And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, 

He bade me on you press this one word — " think !" 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and 
spirit, 
Who think to storm the worM bv dint of merit, 
To you the dotard has a dea< r o sa j. 
In his sly, dry, sententious. pr»«vprr> wav; 
He bids you minci, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him, 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair, 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
And humbly begs you'll ^ind the important now 1 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak, endeavours, 
With grateful pride we own your many favours ; 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 

1 We have gotten a set of very decent players here just now. I have seen 
tnem an evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the 
manager of the company, a Mr. Southerland, who is a man of apparent 
wonL On New-year-day evening I gave him the following Prologue/whieh 
he spouted to his audience with applause. — E. B. 



177 



ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 

As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 

'Nor envious death so triumph 'd in a blow, 

As that which laid th' accomplished Burnet low 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, 
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is knows 

In vain, ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens ; 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd; 
Ye rugged cliffs o'erhanging dreary glens, 

To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth, 
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ? 

And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail ? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the sphersa 

But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide, 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon a<red tree ; 
So, from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare, 



WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT IIIM A 
NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT, FRRK 
OF EXPENSE. 

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through, 
And, faith, to me 'twas really new ! 
How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted 
This monj a day I've grain'd and gaunted 
v 



178 BUBJ8S. 

To ken what French mischief was brewin* ; 

Or what the drumlie 1 Dutch were cloirT ; 

That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 

If 'Vernis yet had got his nose off; 

Or how the colli eshangie 2 works 

Atween the Russians and the Turks 5 

Or if the S^vede, before he halt, 

Would play anither Charles the Twalt : 

If Denmark, any body spak o't ; 

Or Toland, wha had now the tak 3 o't; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin 

How libbet 4 Italy was singin' ; 

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 

Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 

Or how our merry lads at hame, 

In Britain's court, kept up the game °. 

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him ! 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 

If sleekit 5 Chatham "Will was livin', 

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin', 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin ; 

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, 

Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 

The news 0' princes, dukes, and earls, 

Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girls ; 

If that daft buckie, Geordie W s, 

Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails ; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser, 8 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. — 
A' this and mair I never heard of ; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 
So, gratefu', back your news I send you, 
A nd pray a' guid things may attend you ! 

■Ellisland, Monday Morning, 1790. 



LINES ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LOUD DAES,* 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhynier lvobin, alias Burns, 

October twenty -third, 
A ne'er to be forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprackled s up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 

' Muddy. 2 Quarrel. 3 Taking. 4 Gelded. 5 Sly. « Wiser. 
* Sou of trie E?rl of Selkirk. Burns was introducer' to him by bu.4b.ld 
Stf ^*rt. s Clambered. 



INTESTIETf WITH LOEP DAER. 1?9 

I've been at drucken writers' feasts, 
Nay, been bitch -fou 'mang godly priests, 

(Wi' rev'rence be it spoken ;) 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty Squireships of the quorum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord — stand out my shin, 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son, 

LTp higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r, 1 

And how he star'd and stainmer'cl. 
When goavan, 2 as if led wi' branks, 3 
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 

I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
An' at his Lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except good sense and social glee, 
An' (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch 'd the symptoms o' the great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another ; 
Nae honest worthy man need care 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 

Frightened stare. 2 "Walking with stupid wonjSit. 

8 A curb bridle. 



*9 



180 



THE EIGHTS OF WOMAN. 

PEOLOGUE SPOEEX BY HISS FOXTENELLE ON HER 
BENEFIT NIGHr, 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty tilings, 
The fate of Empires and the fall of Ivmgs ; 
While quacks of State must each produce his plan, 
And even children lisp The lights of Man ; 
Amid the mighty fuss, just 1st me mention, 
The Eights of Woman merit some attention. 

First, in the Sexes' intermixed connexion, 
One sacred Ei^ht of Woman is, Protection. — 
The tender flower that lifts its head, eiate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of Fate, 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 

Our second Eight — but needless here is caution, 
To keep that Eight inviolate's the fashion, 
Each man of sense has it so full before him, 
He'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis Decorum. 
There was. indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time, when rough rude man had naugh'y ways ; 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a Lady's quiet ! — 
Now, thank our stars ! those Gothic times are fled ; 
Now, well-bred men — and you are ail well-bred ! 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct, neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest, 
That Eight to fluttering female hearts the nearest, 
Which even the Eights of Kings in low prostration 
Most humbly own— 'tis dear, dear Admiration ! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move ; 
There taste that life of life — immortal Love. — 
Sighs, tears, smiles, glances, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage c!ares — 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

Then truce with kings, and truce with constitutions, 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ! 
Let Majesty your first attention summon, 
lb. ! 9a ira ! The Majesty oe Woman 1 






181 



ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE, ON HER 
BENEFIT-NIGHT, DECEMBER 4, 1795, AT THE THEA- 
TRE, DUMFRIES. 

Still anxious to secure your partial favour, 
And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
'Twoulcl vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better 
So sought a poet, roosted near the skies, 
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last, my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
" Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, 
" I know your bent — these are no laughing times ; 
Can you — but, Miss, I own I have my fears, — 
Dissolve in pause, — and sentimental tears, 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, 
Kouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Ivepentance ; 
Paint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand, 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?" 

I could no more — askance the creature eyeing, 
D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crj-rng? 
I'll laugh, that's poz — nay, more, the world shall know it c 
And so, your servant ! gloomy Master Poet ! 

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fixed belief, 
That Misery's another word for Grief; 
I also think — so may I be a bride ! 
That so much laughter, so much life enjoy 'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye ; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
To make three guineas do the work of five • 
Laugh in misfortune's face — the beldam witch ! 
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 
Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
Who long with jiltish hearts and airs hast strove ? 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope — thy neck — 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf? 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself: 
Learn to despise those frowns now so terrific, 
A ad love a kinder — that's vour grand specific. 



182 BUENS. 

To sum up all, be mercy, I advise ; 

And as we're merry, may we still be wise. 



VERSES TO A TOUXG LADY, 1 WITH A PRESENT OF SOXG& 

Hebe, where tlie Scottish ATuse immc v trJ lives, 

In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd, 
Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who ^ives, 
Eich is the tribute of the grateful muid. 

So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among! 

But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song; 

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 

As modest Want the tale of woe reveals ; 

While conscious Virtue all the strain endears, 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals ! 



POEAI OX PASTOEAL POETEY. 2 

Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserv'd ! 3 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 

'ATang heaps o' clavers 5 
And och ! owre aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

5 AIid a' thy favours ! 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud, the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage j 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 

But wi J miscarriage? 

In Homer's craft Jock ATilton thrives ; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives; 
Wee Pope, the knurling 'till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

1 Daughter of !Mr. Graham, of Fiutry. 
9 Gilbert Burns doubted the authenticity of these Yertee, bat suxeij 
without re*sou, 

* Coilina, ♦ Dwarf. 



ON rASTOSAL P0ET3Y. 1S3 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks 1 his skinklin- patches 

O' heathen tatters ; 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o* wit and lear, 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural £race; 
And wi* the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need nt jouk 3 behint the hallan, 

A chielsae clever ; 
The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tantallan, 4 

But thou's for ever ; 

Thou paints add Mature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 

Nae gowden stream thro' myrtles twines, 

"Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany gleis 5 thy burnie strays, 
Where bonnielasses bleach their claes , 
Or trots by ha;elly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns grey 
Where black b.rds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural lcves are nature's sel* ; 
Nae boinbas spates 6 o' nonsense swell • 
Nae snap caceits, but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love ; 
That charirthat can the strongest quel 1 

The sternest move. 

i Presses. 2 Stall. 8 stoop. 4 The name ot a es? SJe. 

* Dais'd dales* 6 Torrents. 



184 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF THE LAST EDITION 
OF HIS POEMS, PRESENTED TO THE LADY WHOM HE 
HAD OFTEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF 
CHLORIS. 1 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower, 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower.) 



Since life's gay scenes must ciarm no more, 

Still much is left behind ; i 
Still nobler wealth hast thouin store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self- approving gow, 

On conscious honour's part; 
And, dearest gift of Heaven )elow, 

Thine friendship's truest h<art. 

The joys refin'd of sense and^aste, 

With ev'ry muse to rove : 
And doubly were the poet blest 

These joys could he improve. 



POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, WITH 
THE PRESENT OF THE BARD1 PICTURE. 

Eeveked defender of beauteous Suart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respectd, 
A name, which to love, was the mak of a true heart, 

But now 'tis despis'd and negleckd ' 

1 Jean Lorimer. 



NEW-YEAE DAY, ]8£ 

Tho' some thing like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigL, 

Still mo; ^ if tliat wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King G-eorge I most heartily join, 

The Queen, and the rest of the gentry; 
Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine 5 

Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 

That gave us the Hanover stem ? 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, truce ! we're on dangerous ground, 
Who knows how the fashions may alter ? 

The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard, 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades ir vour eye, 

And ushers the long dreary night ; 
But you like the star that athwart gild, the isky, 

YoJr course to the latest is bright. 



SKETCH.— NEW- YEAE Da£. 

TO MES. DTTNLOP. 

This day Time winds th' exhausted chain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again: 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail him with, their prayer, 



186 BUESS. 

Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Vv ill you (ihe Major's 1 with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's 2 care to-day, 
And blooming Keith's 3 engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow — ' 
—That grandchild's cap will make to-morrow-? 
And join with me a-moralizing ; 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver? 
" Another year is gone for ever." 
And what is this day's strong suggestk 
" The passing moment's all we rest or, \" 
Eest on — for what ? what do we here F 
Or why regard the passing year P 
"Will Time, amus'd with proverb 'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may, a few years must, 
Repose us in the silent dust ; 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss I 
The voice of Nature loudly cries. 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies ; 
That on this frail, uncertain state 
Hang matters of eternal weight ; 
That future life in worlds unknown 
Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as Heaveniy glory bright, 
Or dark as Misery's woful night. — 

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends, 
On this poor being all depends ; 
Let us th' important Now employ, 
And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'i, 
"Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse ; 
A sight pale Envy to convulse ;) 
Others now claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 

i Major, afterwards General Andrew Dunlop, second son of Mrt, 
Dunlop. 
"■ Miss Rachel Dunlop. » Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter. 






187 



EXTEMPORE, ON M.tt. WILLIAM SMELLIE, AUTHOR OF 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HISTORY, AND MEM- 
BER OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL SOCIETIES 
OF EDINBURGH. 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crocliallan 1 came, 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might ; 
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving night ; 
His uucomb'd grizzly locks, wild staring, thatch'd 
Ahead, for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd: 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 



INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, AT 
KERROUOHTRY, SEAT OF MR. HERON; WRITTEN IN 
SUMMER, 1795. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd ; 

Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave, 

Who wilt not be nor have a slave ; 

Yirtue alone who dost revere, 

Thy own reproach alone dost fear, 

J/pproach this shrine, and worship here. 



MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. 9 

How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd ; 

How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd ! 
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd ; 

How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

Prom friendship and dearest affection remov'd ; 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate ! 
Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov'd. 

1 There was a club in Edinburgh — the Crochallan Fencibles — of which 
flurns and Smellie were members. 

2 The lady was the Mrs. Riddel, whose name so often occurs in the Poof I 
iotor/. 



188 BURNS. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on yon ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye slied not a tear; 
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 

We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower, 
We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed ; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 

For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed. 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay ; 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam ; 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect ; 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ. f 
OF GLENRIDDEL ; APRIL, 1794. 

"No more, ye warblers of the wood — no more ! 

JN'or pour your descant, grating, on my soul ; 

Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, 
More welcome were to me grim Winter's ^ ildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flowr's, with all your dyes P 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my frienl : 
How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 

The strain flows round th' untimely tomb where EiddeJ 
lies. 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe ! 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier : 
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer, 

Is in his " narrow house" for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet; 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 



189 



IMPROMPTU, ON MRS. RIDDEL'S BIRTH-DAY, 
NOVEMBER 4, 1793. 

Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd,- — 
What have I clone, of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow ; 
My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 
Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich me, 
Spring, Summer. Autumn, cannot match rae, 
'Tis done ! says Jove ; so ends my story, 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



TO MISS JESSY LEWARS, DUMFRIES, WITH BOOKS 
WHICH THE BARD PRESENTED HER. 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
And with them take the Poet's prayer — 
That Pate may in her fairest page, 
With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare ; 
All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 



ieXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME, ON REFUSING TO DINE 
WITH HIM, AFTER HAVING BEEN PROMISED THE 
FIRST OF COMPANY AND THE FIRST OF COOKERY 
DECEMBER 17th, 1795. 

JSo more of your guests, be they titled or not, 
And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



190 



TO ME. SYME, WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN 0? 

PORTER. 

O, had tlie malt tliy strength, of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
'Twere drink for first of human kind, 

A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. 

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



SONNET, OX HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING 

WALK ; WRITTEN JANUARY 25th, 1793, THE BIRTH- 
DAY OF THE AUTHOR, R. B., AOED 34. 

Sing on. sweet Thrash, upon the leafless bough ; 
Sing on. sweet bird, I listen to thy strain : 
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 

At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow. 

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear 

Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, 
"Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 
IN or asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds the orient skies ! 

Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 
What wealth could never give, nor take away ! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care ; 
The mite high Heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee 
I'll share. 






POEM, ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, COLLECTOR OF 
EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 1796. 

Fkiexd of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
•Alake, alake, the meikle Deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it. skelpin ! jig and reel, 

In mv poor pouches. 



APOLOGY TO AN OFFENDED FB1END. 191 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it : 
If wi the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood clunted, 1 

I'd bear 't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

YeVe heard this while how I've been licket, 
And by fell Death was nearly nicket : 
Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket, 2 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, 
My heal and weal I'll take a care o't 

A tentier 3 way : 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o't, 

For ance and aye. 



SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD OFFENDED 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 

(Not moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that hapless friend ? 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, 
Ah why should I such scenes outlive ? 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 

1 Beat. 8 Waistcoat. • VTia«r. 



192 



POEM ON LIFE, ADDRESSED TO COLOXEL DE PEISTER;* 
DUMFRIES, 1796. 

]\It honour 'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in tke Poet's weal ; 
All ! how sma' heart hae I to speel 2 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill, 

And potion glazses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 

Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it ; 

And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve : 
(And aye a rowth, 3 roast beef and claret ; 

Syne, wha wad starve ?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, 
And in paste gems and fripp'ry deck her ; 
Oh ! nick'rmg, feeble, and unsicker 4 

I've found her still, 
Aye wav'ring like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons 5 by a rattan/ 
Our snafu' saul to get a claut 7 on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye '11 ne'er cast saut on,— 

He's aff'like fire. 

Ah Xick ! ah Xiek ! it is na ^.ir, 
First shewing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne s weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O' hell's d—dwafc. 9 

Poor man, the flie.. aft bizzes by, 

And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh, 

Thy auld d — d elbow yeuks with joy, 

And hellish pleasure ; 
Already, in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker 10 treasure. 

'- Colonel of the Dumfries Volunteers. 
4 Unsteady 
6 Rat. 7 A scrape. en. 



2 Climb. 


» Plenty 


s Cat. 




9 Woof. 


io Sure. 



EPITAPH, ETC. 193 

Soon, heels-o'er-gowdy ! l in lie gangs, 
And like a skeep-liead on a tangs, 
Thy girning 2 laugh, enjoys his pangs 

And murd'ring wrestle, 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tasssL 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this draunting drivel, 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the Devil ! 

Amen ! amen ! 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY, ON RECEIVING 
A FAVOUR. 

I call no Goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a Bard that feigns ; 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns. 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons recorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer., as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light f 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roll to me, along your wand'ring spheres 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 



EPITAPH OST A FKIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his image blest ; 
The friend of man, the friend of truth > 
The friend of age, and guide of youth : 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform 'd : 

If there 's another world, he lives in bliss ; 

If there is none, he made the best of this. 

1 Topsyturvy. * Grinning. 



104 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CEEECH.' 

Auld chuckie Reekie's 2 sair distrest 
Down drops her ance weel burnisht cres% 
]N*ae joy her bonnie buskit 3 nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa ! 

Willie was a witty wight. 
And had o' things an unco slight ; 
Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, 

An' trig 4 an' braw. 
But now they'll busk her like a fright, 
Willie's awa ! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd ; 
They durst nae mair than he allow'd, 

That was a law : 
We've lost a birkie 5 weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa ! 

£Tow gawkies, tawpies, 6 gowks, and fools, 
Erae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock-s tools 

In glen or shaw :~ 
He wha could brush them down to mools, 

Willie's awa ! 

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chaumer p 
May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clamour $ 
He was a dictionar and grammar 
Amang them a' ; 

1 fear they'll now mak mony a stamine* 

Willie's awa ! 

jN^ae mair we see bis levee door 
Philosophers and Poets pour, 
And toothy critics by the score. 

In bloody ra^- ; 
The adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa ! 

* The inclosed I have just wrote, nearly extempore, in a solitary inn i? 
Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's riding. — K. B. 
3 Edinburgh, 3 Ornamented. 4 Neat. 5 Clever fellow* 

6 Silly girls. ' Wood in a hollow. 

• The Chamber of Commerce in Edinburgh. 



VERSES WRITTEN AT SELKIRK. 195 

Kow worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace •, 
M'Kenzie, Stewart — such a brace 

As Home ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 

Willie's awa ! 

Poor Burns e'en Scotch drink canna quicken. 
He cheeps 1 like some bewildered chicken 
Scar'd frae its minnie and the cleckin 

By hoodie-craw ; 2 
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin', 

Willie's awa ! 

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blellum, 3 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum 4 

His quill may draw ; 
He wha could brawlie ward their bellum, 

Willie's awa ! 

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red, 

While tempests blaw ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 

Willie's awa ! 

May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 5 

Tho' far awa ! 

May never wicked fortune touzle him ! 
May never wicked men bamboozle him J 
Until a pow 6 as auld's Methusalera 

He canty claw ! 7 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Pleet wing awa! 

* Chirp9. 2 Blood-crow. 3 Talking fellow. * sJcahi©, 

5 Creech was the chief publisher in Edinburgh. 
* Head. 7 Cheerful scratch. 



o 2 



19(3 



INSCRIPTION ON THE TOMBSTONE ERECTED BY BURNS 
TO THE MEMORY OF FERGUSSON. 1 

" Here lies Robert Fergusson, Poet, born September 5th, 1751— 
Died, 16th Oetober, 1774." 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompons lay, 
" No storied nrn, nor animated bust ;" 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 






A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
We bless thee, G-od of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 
And, if it please thee, Heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted, or denied, 

Lord, bless us with content ! 
Amen I 



A VERSE COMPOSED AND REPEATED BY BURNS, TO 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, ON TAKING LEAVE 
AT A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS, WHERE HE HAD 
BEEN HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED. 



When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come ; 

In Heaven itself I'll ask no more, 
Than just a Highland welcome. 






LIBERTY— A FRAGMENT. 3 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that soul of Freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies ! 

1 Barns had asked permission of the Bailies of Canongate, to " lay a 
•imple stone over the revered ashes" of Fergusson. 

1 The Fragment was the amusement of a lonely hour at a village inn, ia 
the summer of 1794. 






ANSWEE TO VERSES. 197 

Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 

Is this the power in Freedom's war, 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing, 
That arm which, nerved with thundering fate, 

Brav'd usurpation's boldest daring ! 
One quench'd in darkness, like the sinking star, 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX. 1 

Now Robin lies in his last lair, 

He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

!Nae mair shall fear him : 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fasht him, 
Except the moment that they crusht him ; 
For sune as chance, or fate, had husht 'em, 

Tho' e'er sae short, 
Then wi' a rhyme, or sang, he lasht 'em, 

And thought it sport. 

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 

And counted was baith wight and stark, 8 

Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him, he was learn'd and dark, 

Ye roos'd him than ! 



iNSWER TO VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE POET BY THB 
GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE.* 

GUIDWIFE, 

i mind it weel, in early date, 

When I was beardless, young, and blate, 

1 In Euisseaux, Burns plays on his own name. a Stout and enduring. 
* Mrs. Scott, who had some skill in rhyming and painting. 



198 BURNS. 

An' first could thrash the barn, 
Or hand a yokin at the pleugh. 
An' tho' forfoughten 1 sair eneugh, 

Yet unco' proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon 'd was, 
And wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing and clearing 
The tither stooked raw, J 
Wi' claivers, an' haivers, 3 
Wearing the day awa ; 

Ev'n then a wish (I mind its power), 
A wish that, to my latest hour, 

Shall strongly heave my breast : 
That. I for poor auld Scotland's sake. 
Some usefu' plan, or beuk could make* 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 4 
I turn'd the weeding-hook aside, 
An' spar'd the symbol dear : 
2no nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise ; 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that har'st I said before, 
My partner in the merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 

That lighted up my jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky een. 
That gart my heart-strings tingle ; 
I fired, inspired, 

At ev'ry kindling keek, 5 
.But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter days, 

£fe©£. * The other row of shocks. 8 Nonsense. * Barley. 

* Look. 



TO J. LAPRAIK. l&fc 

An' we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o' life, the heav'n below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the name, 

Be mindfu' o' your mither : 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her, 

Ye're wae men, ye're nae men, 
That slight the lovely dears ; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and byre, 1 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare, 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap, 2 

Douce hingin' owre my cur pie, 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Fareweel then, lang heal then, 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 

Ne'er at vour hallan ca\ 

•/ 

March, 1787. 



TO J. LAPBAIX. 

Sept. 13th, 1785. 

G-TJiD speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 
Ouid health, hale bans, and weather bonny ; 
Now when ye're nickan clown fu' canny 

The staff, o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

* Stable, or sheep-pen. * Mantle. 



200 BUENS. 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it, 

But bitter, daudin showers hae wat it, 

Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark, 
An' took my jocteleg 1 an' what it, 
Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill-nature 

On holy men, 
While Deil a hair yoursel ye 're better, 

But mair profane. 

But let the kirk -folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sels ; 
We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose lis, 
But browster wives 2 an' whiskie stills, 

They are the Muses. 

Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it, 

An' if ye mak objections at it, 

Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it, 

An' witness take, 
An' when wi' Usquebae we've wat it 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kye be gaun without the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theekit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-in spirin' aqua-vits9 

Shall make us baith sae blithe an' witty, 

Till ye forget ye're auld an' gatty, 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine years less than thretty, 

Sweet ane an' twenty •- 

But stooks are cowpet 3 wi v the blast, 
An' now the sinn keeks 4 in the west, 

* Clasp-knife, 2 Alehouse wires. Tumbled ot« 

Sun peeps. 



TO THE EEV. JOHN M'MATH. 201 

Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quit my chanter ; 

Sae I subscribe niysel in haste 

Your's, Rab the Ranter. 1 



TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH. 

ENCLOSING A COPY OF HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER, WHICH HE HAD 
REQUESTED. 

Sept. inb, 1785. 

While at the stook the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin' 2 show'r, 
3r in gulravage rinnin scour, 3 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' monie a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban/ an' douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie 4 now she's done it, 

Lest they shou'd blame her, 
An* rouse their holy thunder on it, 

And anathem her, 

I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, 
That I, a simple countra bardie, 
Shou'd meddle wi' a pack so sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Loose hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
Their sighin,' cantin,' grace-proud faces, 
Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile graces, 

Their raxin' 5 conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an* pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Gawn, 6 miska't waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 

1 It is very probable that the Poet thus named himself after the Bordtf 
Piper t so spiritedly introduced in the popular song of " Maggie Lauder."— 
Cromek. 

* Driving » Running in confusion, like boys leaving school. 

* Frighted. * Stretching. 6 Gavin Hamilton. 



•202 BURNS. 

Than monie scores as guid 's the priest 

Wha sae abus'd him ; 

An' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've us'd him t 

See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word an' deed, 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skeliums, 
An' no a muse erect her head 

To cowc the blelluras ? 

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

•God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, 
Nor am I even the thins: I cou'd be, 
But, twenty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean, 
Than under Gospel colours hid be, 

Just for a screen. 

An honest'man may like a glass. 
An honest man may like a lass, 
But mean revenge, an' malice fause, 

He'll still disdain, 
An' then cry zeal for Gospel laws, 

Like some we ken. 

They tak religion in their mouth ; 
They talk ©' mercy, grace, an' truth, 
For wh&t ? to gie their malice skouth 1 

On some puir wight 
An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth, 

To ruin straight. 

All hail, Beligion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee 
To stigmatise false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

* Vent. 



TO TUE REV, JOHN M'MATH. 203 

Tlio* blotch't an' foul wi' monie a stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train, 

Wi' trembling voice I tune my strain, 

To join wi' those, 
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes ; 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite o' undermining jobs, 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground ! 
Within thy presbytereal bound, 
A candid lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd, 

An' manly preachers. 

Sir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, in that circle you are fam'd ; 
An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd, 

(Which gies you honour,) 
Even, Sir, by them your heart's esteem 'd, 

An' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' if impertinent I've been, 
Impute it not, good Sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd yb 
l»bt to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd t' ye^ 



204 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., MAUCHLINE. 

EECOMilENDING A BOY. 

Mosgaville, May 3, 1786. 

I hold it, Sir, my bounden duty, 
To warn you how thai, Master Tootie, 

Alias. Laird M'Gaun, 1 
TTas here to lure the lad away 
'Bout whoru ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad hae don 't afFhan' :* 
But lest he learn the callan tricks, 

As, faith, I muckle doubt him, 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, 
An' tellin' lies about them ; 
As lieve then, I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted otherwhere. 

Altho' I say't, he's gleg 3 enough, 

An' 'bout a bouse that's rude an' rough, 

The boy might learn to swear ; 
But then wi" you, he'll be sae taught, 
An' get sic fair example straught, 

I hae na ony fear. 
Ye '11 catechise him every quirk, 

An' shore 4 him weel wi* hell ; 

An' gar 5 him follow to the kirk 

— Aye when ye gang yours el. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this coniin' Friday, 
Then please, Sir, to lea'e, Sn% 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honour I hae gi'en, 

In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 

To meet the warld's worm : 
To try to get the twa to gree, 
An' name the airles 6 an' the fee, 

In legal mode an' form : 

1 Master Tootie then lived in Mauchline ; a dealer in cows. It was hii 
common practice to cut the nicks or markings from the horns of cattle, to 
disguise their age. He was an artful trick-contriving character; hence he 
>6 eahed a snick-drawer. Burns styles the Devil, in his addres3 to that per- 
sonage, an auld, snick-draicing dog.' 5 — Cromek. 

* Offhand. * Sharp. * Threaten. 5 Make. 

6 Earnest money. 









EPISTLE TO ME. M*ADAM. 205 

I ken he weel a snick can draw, 1 

When simple bodies let him ; 
An* if a Devil be at a', 

In faith he's sure to get hint* 
To phrase you, an' praise you, 

Ye ken your Laureat scorns i 
The pray'r still, you share still, 
Of grateful Minstrel — Buens. 






EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM OP CRAIGEN-GILLAN, IN 
ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER HE SENT IN THE 
COMMENCEMENT OF MY POETIC CAREER, 

Sie, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow it made me proud ; 
" See wha taks notice o' the Bard!" 

I lap and cry fu' loud. 

" Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 

The senseless, gawky million ; 
I'll cock my nose aboon them a', 

I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan !" 

'Twas noble, Sir ; 'twas like yoursel, 

To grant your high protection : 
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' weel, 

Is aye a blest infection. 

Tho', by his 2 banes wha in a tub 

Match'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs, thro' dirt and dub, 

I independent stand aye. — 

And when those legs to gude, warm kail, 

Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
A iee dyke-side, a sybow-taii, 

And barley scone shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

O' mony now'ry simmers ! 
And bless your bonnie lasses baith, 

I'm tald they're loosome kimmers ! 8 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country. 

» Contrive a trick, * Diogenes. • Girl*. 



208 
TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL, GL12NRIDDEL. 

EXTEMPORE LINES ON EETUENING A NEWSPAPER. 

Ellisland, Monday Evening. 

Your News and Review, Sir, I've read through and though, 
Sir, 

With little admiring or blaming : 
The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, 

No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends the Reviewers, those ehippers and hewers. 

Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir ; 
But of meet, or unmeet, in a fabrick. complete, 

I'll boldly pronounce they are none, Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is, to tell all your goodaess 

Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; 
Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, 

And then all the world, Sir, should know it ! 



TO TERRAUGHTY, 1 OjN t HIS BIRTHDAY, 

Health to the Maxwells' vet'ran Chief! 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf 

This natal morn, 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief, 2 

Scarce quite half worn. 

This day thou metes threescore eleven, 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second-sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet) 
On thee a tack o* seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckies view wi' sorrow 

Thy lengthen'd days on this blest morrow, 

May desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour. 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure — a 

1 Mr. Maxwell, of TerraugMy, near Dumfries. 2 Proof. 

4 Du?t. 



THE VOWELS, ETC. 20? 

But for thy friends, and tliey are monie, 
Baitli honest men and lasses" bonnie. 
May couthie 1 fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi* mornings blythe and e'enings funny 

Bless them and thee ! 

Fareweel, auld birkie !' 2 Lord be near ye, 
And then the Deil he daur na steer 3 ye : 
Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye j 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca* me. 



TO A LADY, WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF 
DRINKING GLASSES. 

Edinburgh, March 17th, 1788, 

Fair Empress of the Poet's soul, 

And Queen of Poetesses ; 
CJarinda, take this little boon, 

This humble pair of glasses. 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generous toast— 

" The whole of human kind !" 

" To those who love us !" — second fill ; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 

A third—" To thee and me, love !" 4 



THE VOWELS. 

A TALE. 

*Twas where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd, 

The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 

Where ignorance her darkening vapour tlirowg, 

And cruelty directs the thickening blows ; 

Upon a time, Sir Abece the great, 

In all his pedagogic powers elate, 

1 Loving. 2 A clever fellow. 3 Molest. 

» The lady was the Clarinda of the Poet's letters; some accsnnt of kw 
•rill be found in the prefatory Memoir. 



208 BUENS. 

His awful chair of state resolves to mount, 
And call the trembling Vowels to account. 

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, 
But ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on his way 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted, ai ! 

Eeluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous race 
The jostling tears ran down his honest face ! 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his own, 
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! 
The pedant stifles keen the Eoman sound 
Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound; 
And, next, the title following close behind, 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign 'd. 

The cobweb 'd gothic dome resounded, Y ! 
In sullen vengeance, I disdained reply : 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground! 

In rueful apprehension enter'd O, 
The waiiing minstrel of despairing woe ; 
Th' Inquisitor of Spain, the most expert. 
Might there have learnt new mysteries of his a?t: 
So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering, U 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast, 
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, 
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, 
Baptis'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight. 



SKETCH. 1 

A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still his precious self his dear delight ; 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets ; 
A man of fashion too, he made his tour, 
Learn'd vive la bagatelle, et vive l'amour ; 

1 The piece inscribed " R. G., Esq.," is a copy of verses I sent Mr. Graham, 
of Fintry, accompanying a request for his assistance in a matter to me of 
very great moment. This poem is a specie3 of composition new to me, but 
I do not intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as you will see by the 
" Poet's Progress." These fragments, if my design succeed, are but a 
small part of the intended whole. I propose it shall be the work of my ut- 
most exertions, ripened by years. The fragment beginning, "A little, 
upright, pert, tart," &c, forms the postulate, the axioms, the definition of a 
character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. 
This particular part I send yon merely as a sample of my hand at portrait* 
Bketcbing.— To Professor D. StewarU Jan. 20*1789. 



PBOLOGTTE FOE ME. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT. 20" 

So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood ; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
His solid sense — by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend, 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 



PROLOGUE FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT-NIGHT, 

DUMFRIES. 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
How this new play, an' that new sang, is comin' P i 
"Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted ? 
Does nonsense mend like whisky, when imported ? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame, 
Will try to gie us sangs and plays at hame P 
For comedy abroad ie need na toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil : 
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece, 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian story, 
Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory. 
Is there no daring Bard will rise, and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how napless fell P 
Where are the Muses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first unsheath'd the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after monie a bloody, deathless doin', 
Wrench'd his dear country from the jaws of ruin? 
O for a Shakespeare, or an Otway scene, 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen! 
Tain all th' omnipotence of female charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms, 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman : 
A woman, tho' the phrase may seem uncivil, 
As able and as cruel as the Devil ! 
One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 
A Douglas follow'd to the martial strife, 
Perhaps, if bowls row right, and right succeeds, 
Yc yet may follow where a Douglas leads ! 

P 



210 BURNS. 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 
Would tak the Muses' servants by the hand ; 
"Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, 
And where ye justly can commend, commend them ; 
And aiblins when they winna stand the test, 
Wink hard and say, the folks hae done their best ! 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution 
Ye'll soon hae Poets, o' the Scottish nation, 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack, 
And warsle * time an' lay him on his back ! 

For us and for our stage should onie spier, 
" Whase aught thae chiels maks a' this bustle hereP' 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
We hae the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
But, like good mithers, shore before ye strike — 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, 
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks : 
God help us ! we're but poor — ye'se get but thanks. 



ELEGY ON THE YEAE 1788. 

SKETCH. 

Foe Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — for that they're boni i 
Eut oh ! prodigious to renee' ! 
A Towmont, 2 Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us I 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint 3 a head, 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's dead! 
The tulzie's 4 sair 'tween Pitt an' Fox, 
And 'tween our Maggie's twa wee cocks j 
The tane is game, a bludie devil, 
But to the hen- birds unco civil ; 
The tither's something dour o' treadin'. 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. 5 

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit * 
An' cry till ye be haerse 7 an' roupet, 
For Eighty- eight he wish'd you weel, 
And gied you &' baith gear an' meal ; 



* Wrestle. 2 Twelvemonth. 

5 Dunghill. e PrJpit. 



Lost, 



* QuarroL 
Hoarse. 



LAMENT ON LEAVING SCOTLAND. 21 j 

E'en monie a plack, and monie a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck. 

Ye bonnie lasses, dight your een, J 
For some o' you hae tint a frien ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 
Observe the vera nowte 2 an' sheep, 
How dowf 3 and daviely they creep : 
JNay, even the yirth itsel does cry, 
For E'mbrugh wells are grutten dry. 
O Eighty -nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
JNae hand-cufPd, mizzl'd, hap-shackl'd Kegent, 
But, like himsel, a full free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
]STae waur than he did, honest man; 
As muckle better as you can. 
January 1, 1789. 



VERSES WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, 
THE POET, IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS, 
PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH- 
MARCH 19th, 1787. 

Cukse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure ! 
O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
"Why is the Bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet ha3 so keen a relish of its pleasures? 



LAMENT, WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET WAS 
ABOUT TO LEAVE SCOTLAND. 4 

O'ee the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain 
straying, 

Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave, 
What woes wring my heart while intently surveying 

The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave. 

1 "Wipe your eyes. 2 Cattle. s Languid. 

* Originally published in the Dumfries Journal, July 5th, 18U5, but 
doubtfully ascribed to Burns. 

P 2 



212 BUENS. 



Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail, 

Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore ; 
Where the flower which bloom'd sweetest in Coila's green 

vale, 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more. 

Ko more by the banks of the streamlet we'll wander, 
And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave ; 

No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her, 
For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her gra\e. 

"No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast, 
I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; 

Where unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest, 
And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 






DELIAS 

AN ODE. 

Fair the face of orient day, 
Eair the tints of op'ning rose ; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
But, Delia, more delightful still 
: Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamour'd busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip ; 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 

Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! 

O let me steal one liquid kiss ! 

For, oh ! my soul is parch'd with love ! 

1 Said to have been written at the inn of Brownhill, in the parish of Clo*> 
bora, " a favourite resting-place of Burns." 






213 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 1 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 

Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro* the dark'ning air, 
And hollow whistl'd in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, 

Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train;* 

Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd, well, 3 
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane. 4 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, 
The clouds swift-wing'd flew o'er the starry sky, 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon rose in the livid east, 

And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form, 

In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 

Hevers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 
Eeclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, 

That like a deathful meteor gleara'd afar, 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world.— 

"My patriot son fills an untimely grave !" 
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried ; 

" Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save. 
Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride * 

* A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 

Th ^ drooping Arts surround their patron's bier, 
And grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh. — 

1 Sir James Blair died July 1, 1787 : he was a partner in Forbes* 
Bank, at Edinburgh. 

2 The King's Park, at Holyrood House.— E. B. 
« St. Anthony's Well.— E. B. * St. Anthony's Chapel.— E. B. 



21 J* BtTHSa. 

* 
w I saw my sons resume their ancient Are ; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow; 
But, ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 

Relentless fate has laid their guardian low. — ■ 

" 1\lj patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung. 

While empty greatness saves a worthless name £ 
No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 

And future ages hear his growing fame. 

" And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last. 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs," — 
She said, and vanished with the sweeping blast. 



WKITTEN OX THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF THE 
FIRST EDITION, VTHICH I PRESENTED TO AX OLD 

SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED. 

Once fondly iov'd, and still remember'd dear, 
Sweet early object of my youthful vows. 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere ; 
Friendship ! 'tis all cold duty now allows. 

And when you read the simple, artless rhymes, 
One friendly sigh for him, — he asks no more, 

"Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 



THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILI>, 

Thou's welcome, wean ! mischanter 2 fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 

~My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta, or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonnie Betty, 
I, fatherly, will kiss and daut 3 thee, 

• The mother was Elizabeth Paton, of Lar^ieside, and her daughter di«! 
i«» 1817, the wife of the overseer at Foikemaiet. 

Accident* ■ Fondle. 



LETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE. 215 

As dear an' near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as gude will, 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' h — 11. 

What tho' they ca' me fornicator, 
An' tease my name in kintra clatter : 
The mair they talk I'm kent the better, 

E'en let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet fruit o* monie a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warJd asklent, 1 

Whk a ioois may scofF at ; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better half o't. 

An* if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, 

An* think 't weel war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may aye inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

"Without his failing, 
'Twill please me mair to hear an' see't, 

Than stockit mailins. 2 



\ETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, ON THK 
PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

Goudie ! terror o' the Whigs, 
Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin' 3 looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition : 

1 Asquint. * Farms. 3 Grin oing. 



216 BURNS. 

Fy, bring Black- Jock, her state physician, 
To see her water ; 

Alas! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Aula Orthodoxy lang did grapple, 
But now she's got an unco ripple ; l 
' Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel, 
Nigh unto death ; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple, 2 

An' gasps for breath. 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 

Gaen in a galloping consumption, 

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, 

"Will ever mend her ; 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption, 

Death soon will end her. 

'Tis you and Taylor 3 are the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, 

A toom 4 tar-barrel 
An' twa red peats wad send relief, 

An' end the quarrel. 



IETTEE TO JAMES TAIT, GLENCOETNEK.* 

Attld comrade dear, and brither sinner, 
How's a' the folk about Glenconner ; 
How do you this blae eastlin vrin', 
That's like to blaw a body biin' ? 
For me, my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen*. 
IVe sent you here by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ; 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
An' Reid, to common sense appealing, 
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled, 
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled, 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd, 
An' in the depth of Science mir'd, 

* Death-pain. * Throat. 8 Dr. Taylor, of Norwich. 

4 Empty. 
' According to Burns, " the moat intelligent farmer in the country .** 



IETTEE TO JAMES TAIT. $117 

To common sense they now appeal, 

"What wives an' wabsters 1 see an' feel. 

But, hark ye, friend, I charge you strictly, 

Peruse them, an' return them quickly, 

For now I'm grown sae cursed douse, 

I pray an' ponder but the house, 

My shins, my lane, 2 1 there sit roasting 

Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston ; 

Till by an' by, if I haud on, 

I'll grunt a real Gospel-groan : 

Already I begin to try it, 

To cast my een up like a pyet, 3 

When by the gnn she tumbles o'er, 

Flutt'ring an' gaspin' in her gore : 

Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 

A burning an' a shining light. 

My heart- warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale 4 of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld grey hairs, 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May he who made him still support him, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him. 
His worthy fam'ly far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! 

My auld school -fellow, Preacher Willie, 
The manly ts*x, 5 my mason Billie, 
An' Auchcnbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy, 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither, 
Just five-and-forty years thegither ! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' Lord remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock. 
An' next, my auld acquaintance, JSTancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
An' her kind stars hae airted till her 
A good chiel wi' a pickle 6 siller. 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 
To cousin Kate an* sister Janet ; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautions, 
For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashious : 
To grant a heart is fairly civil. — 

1 Weavers. 2 Myself alone. s Magpie. * Choice. 

• The "manly tar" was probably Kichard Brown. — Cuiraiir&HAlL 

6 Small quantity. 



218 BTJBN3. 

An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 
May guardian angels tak a spell, 
An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 
But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 
May ye get monie a merry story, 
Monie a laugh, and monie a drink, 
An' aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

RTow fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you, 
Eor my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man ; 
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, 
Tour's, saint or sinner, 

Bob the Ranted 



EPISTLE FKOM ESOPUS 1 TO MAMA. 

Erom those drear solitudes and frowzy cells, 
Where infamy with sad repentance dwells ; 
Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, 
And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young in sin, 
Blush at the curious stranger peeping in ; 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar. 

Resolve to drink, nay half to w e, no more ; 

Where tiny thieves, not destin'd yet to swing, 
Beat hemp for others, riper for the string : 
Erom these dire scenes my wretched lines I date r 
To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

" Alas ! I feel I am no actor here !" 
'Tis real hangmen, real scourges bear ! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 
Will make thy hair, tho' erst from gipsy poll'd, 
By barber woven, and by barber sold, 
Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, 
Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 
The hero of the mimic scene, no more 
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 
Or haughty Chieftain, 'mid the din of arms, 
In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms ; 
While sans culottes stoop up the mountain high, 
And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 

1 The Etopus of this etrange epistle was Williamson the actor, and thff 
If aria to wiiom it is addre^aad waa Mrs. Kiddel. — Allan Cunningham. 



EPISTLE ER0M ESOPUS TO MARIA. SIS* 

Bless'd Highland bonnet ! Once my proudest dress, 

Now prouder still, Maria's temples press. 

I see her wave thy towering plumes afar, 

And call each coxcomb to the wordy war. 

I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, 

And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze ; 

The crafty colonel leaves the tartan'd lines, 

jFor other wars, where he a hero shines : 

The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred, 

"Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head. 

Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to display 

That veniy vidi, vici, is his way ; 

The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks, 

And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks \ 

Though there his heresies in church and state 

Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate : 

Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, 

And dare3 the public like a noontide sun. 

(YVhat scandal called Maria's janty stagger 

The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger ? 

"Whose spleen, e'en worse than Burns 's venom — wkera 

He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, 

And pours his vengeance in the burning line, — 

Who christen' d thus Maria's lyre divine ; 

The idiot strum of vanity bemused, 

And even th' abuse of poesy abused ! 

"Who call'd her verse, a parish workhouse made 

For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or stray'd ?) 

A workhouse ! ah, that sound awakes my woes, 

And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! 

In durance vile here must I wake and weep, 

And all my frowzy couch in sorrow steep ; 

That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, 

And vermin'd gipsies litter' d heretofore. 

Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour y 

Must earth no rascal, save thyself, endure ? 

Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell, 

And make a vast monopoly of hell ? 

Thou know'st the virtues cannot hate thee worse £ 

The vices also, must they club their curse ? 

Or must no tiny sin to others fall, 

Because thy guilt's supreme enough for all ? 

Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares ; 
In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 



220 BT7ENS. 

As thon at all mankind the flag unfurls, 

Who on my fair-one satire's vengeance hurls f 

Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain coquette, 

A wit in folly, and a fool in wit P 

Who says that fool alone is not thy due, 

And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true ? 

Our force united on thy foes we'll turn, 

And dare the war with all of woman born : 

For who can write and speak as thou and I P 

My periods that decyphering defy, 

And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all reply. 



ON A SUICIDE. 1 

Eaeth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, 
Planted by Satan's dibble — 

Poor silly wretch he's d — d himsel' 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



A FAEEWELL.* 

Faeewell, dear Friend ! may guid luck hit ytm, 
And, 'mang her favourites admit you ! 
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you, 

May nane believe him ! 
And ony Deil that thinks to get you, 

Good Lord deceive him. 



THE FAEEWELL. 

Fabewell old Scotia's bleak domains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 

1 A melancholy person of the name of Glen dinning, having taken away 
his own life, was interred at a place called " The Old Chapel," close beside 
Dumfries. My friend Dr. Copland Hutchinson happened to be walking out 
that way : he saw Burns with his foot on the grave, his hat on his knee, and 
paper laid on his hat, on which he was writing. He then took the paper, 
thrust it with his finger into the red mould of the grave, and went away. 
This was the above epigram, and such was the Poet's mode of publishing it, 

—A. CUZTKIKGHAX. 

2 The friend was Mr. John Kennedy. 



EPISTLE TO EOBEET GEAHAM, ES^. 221 

Farewell, my Bess ! tho' thou'rt bereft 

Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left, 
My part in him thou 'It share ! 
Adieu too, to you too, 

My Smith, my bosom frien' ; 
When kindly you mind me, 
O then befriend my Jean ! 

When bursting anguish tears my heart ! 
From thee, my Jeannie, must I part 1 

Thou weeping answ'rest, "No !" 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face, 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I, for thy sake, must go ! 
Thee Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu ! 
I, with a much- indebted tear, 
Shall still remember you ! 

All-hail then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore f 
It rustles, and whistles — 
I'll never see thee more ! 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY ; ON 
THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN 
SIR JAMES JOHNSTONE AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR 
THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS. 

Fintey, my stay in worldly strife, 
Friend o* my Muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle's I am ? 
Come thea, wi* uncouth, kintra fleg, 1 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg, 

And ye shall see me try him, 

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears 
Who left the all-important cares 

Of princes and their darlings 
And, bent on winning borough towns, 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster lowns, 

And kissing barefit carlins. 5 

Combustion thro' our boroughs rode 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad 

Of mad unmuzzled lions j 



222 BUBNS. 

As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd, 
And Westerha' and Hopeton hurl'd 

To every Whig defiance. 

Eut cautious Queensberry left the war, 
Th' unmanner'd dust might soil his star ; 

Besides, he hated bleeding ; 
Eut left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Caesarean fight, 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

O ! for a throat like huge Mons-nieg, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drurulanrig's banner; 
Heroes and heroines commix, 
All in the field of politics, 

To win immortal honour. 

M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, 

(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the lores and graces : 
.She won each gaping burgess 5 heart, 
"While he, all- conquering, play'd his part 

Anions: their wives and lasses. 



Craigdarroch led a light-arm' d corps, 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour, 

Like Heel a streaming thunder: 
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins, 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought, 
Ee doubted Staig, who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory : 
And Welsh, who ne'er yet fiinch'd his ground, 
High- waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopeian fury. 

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks, 
The many -pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson's port entrench'd his hold, 

And threaten'd worse damnation, 



EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM. ESQ. 223 

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd, 
With these what Tory warriors elos'd, 

Surpasses my descriving : 
Squadrons, extended long and large, 
With furious speed rush to the charge, 

Like raging devils driving 

What verse can sing, what prose narrate, 
The butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty tulzie ! 
Grim Horror girn'd — pale Terror roar'd, 
As Murther at his thrapple 1 shor'd, 

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie. 2 

As highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift, 

Hurl down with crashing rattle : 
As flames among a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods ; 

Such is the rage of battle S 

The stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before th' approaching fellers : 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers. 3 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, 

And think on former daring : 
The muffled murtherer of Charles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls, 

All deadly gules its bearing. 

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 

Bold Scrimgeour follows gallant Graham, 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much wrong'd Montrose ! 
Isow death and hell engulf thy foes, 

Thou liv'st on high for ever !* 

Still o'er the field the combat burns, 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But Fate the word has spoken . 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas ! can do but what they can ! 

The Tory ranks are broken. 

* Throat. 2 The Dion. 

8 A rocky opening on the coast of Aberdeenshire. 



224 BUBNS. 

O that my eon were flowing burns ? 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might greet, that I might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 

And furious Whigs pursuing ! 

What Whig but melts for good Sir James P 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor! 
ISTot Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! 
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave ! 

And Stewart, bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow 5 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe ; 

And Melville melt in wailing 
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing, O Prince, arise, 

Thy power is all-prevailing ! 

For your poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He only hears and sees the war, 

A cool spectator purely ! 
So, when the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chirps securely. 



EPISTLE TO MAJOE LOGAN. 1 

Hail, thairm 2 -inspirin\ rattlin' Willie ! 
Though Fortune's road be rough an' hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 

We never heed, 
But tak it like the unback'd filly, 

Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan 3 whyles we saunter, 
Yirr 4 fancy barks, awa' we canter 
Uphill, down brae, till some mischanter,' 

Some black bog-hole, 
Arrests us, then the scathe 6 an' banter 

We're forced to thole. 7 

1 Major Logan was a skilful player on the violin. * Fiddle-string. 

3 Walking without an object. 
Lively. s Accident. 6 Injury. ? To beat 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 2?5 

Hale be your heart ! Hale be your fiddle ! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
To cheer you through the weary widdle 

O' this wild warl', 
Until you on a crummock driddle 1 

A grey-hair'd carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, 
Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tune- 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or mair, 
The melancholious, lazie croon 

O' cankrie care. 

May still your life from day to day 
IS T ae " lente largo" in the play, 
But " allegretto forte" gay 

Harmonious flow : 
A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey — 

Encore! Bravo! 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
An' never think o' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule, 
But as the clegs 2 o' feeling stang 3 

Are wise or fool. 

My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase 
The harpy, hoodock, 4 purse-proud race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fire-side discords jar a base 

To a' their parts ! 

But come, your hand, my careless brither, 
I' th' ither warl' — if there's anither, 
An' that there is I've little s wither 5 

About the matter,— 
We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted clearly, 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely, 

1 Hobble on a stick. 
• Gadflies. * Sting. * Miserly. 6 Doubt, 



226 BTJBNS. 

Eve's bonny squad priests wyte 1 them sheer!}' 
For our grand fa' ; 

But still, but still, I like them clearly — 
God bless them a' ! 

Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they fa' foul o' earthly j inkers, 
The witching curs'd delicious blinkers 

Hae put me hyte, 2 
And gart me weet my waukrife winkers, 8 

Wi' girnin spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high swearin' — 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 
An' by her een wha was a dear ane ! 

I'll ne'er forget ; 
I hope to gie the jads 4 a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint 5 it, 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted, 

Some cantraip 6 hour, 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted, 

Then, vive I 'amour I 

Faites mes baissemains respectueuses, 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky ; no to roose ye, 

Ye may be proud, 
That sic a couple fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

]STae mair at present can I measure, 

An' trowth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure ; 

But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, 

Be't light, be't dark, 
Sir Bard will do himsel' she pleasure 
To call at Park. 

Robert Bubns. 
Mossed, 30th October, 1786. 

• J31ame. a Frantic. ' Wet my sleepless eyet, 

* Jades. 8 Lost. 6 Chf.rmed, 



227 



EPITAPH ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. 1 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 

Blasted before its bloom ; 
Whose innocence did sweets disclose 

Beyond that flower's perfume. 
To those who for her loss are grieved, 

This consolation's given — 
She's from a world of woe relieved, 

And blooms a rose in Heaven. 



EPITAPH ON GABRIEL MCHAEDSON. 2 

Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 

And empty all his barrels : 
He's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink 

In upright honest morals. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PAEKEE. 3 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 

A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 

Where words ne'er crost the Muse's heckles, 4 

Nor limpet in poetic shackles ; 

A land that prose did never view it, 

Except when drunk he stachert through it ; 

1 These lines are said to hare been written by Burns on the loss of his 
daughter, who died in the autumn of 1795, and of whom he thus speaks in 
his letter to Mrs. Dunlop, from Dumfries, January 31, 1796: " These many 
months you have been two packets in my debt — what sin of ignorance 1 
Lave committed against so highly valued a friend I am utterly at a loss to 
guess. Alas ! madam, ill can I afford, at this time, to be deprived of any of 
the small remnant of my pleasures. I have lately drunk deep of the cup of 
affliction. The autumn robbed me of my only daughter and darling child, 
and that at a distance too, and so rapidly, as to put it out of my power to 
pay the last duties to her. I had scarcely begun to recover from that shock 
when I became myself the victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and long 
the die spun doubtful; until, after many weeks of sick bed, it seems to have 
turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl across my room, and once in- 
deed have been before my own door in t!ae street. 

" When pleasure fascinates the mental sight, 

Affliction purines the visual ray, 
Religion hails the drear, the untried night, 

That shuts, for ever shuts, life's doubtful day." 
2 A brewer in Dumfries. 
8 A merchant of Kilmarnock, and a generous patron of Burns at the 
beginning of his poetical career. 

* Instrument for dressing flax. 

<J2 



228 BTTBNS. 

Here, ambush'd by the chimla 1 cheek, 

Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 

I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 

I hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 

The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 

Enhusked by a fog infernal : 

Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 

I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 

For life and spunk, like ither Christians, 

I'm dwindled down to mere existence, 

"vvT nae converse but G-allowa' bodies, 

Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Geddes. 

Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 

Powie 2 she saunters down Nithside, 

And aye a westlin leuk she throws, 

While tears hap o'er her auld brown nos^ ! 

Was it for this, wi' canny care, 

Thou bure the Bard through many a shire ? 

At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 

And late or early never grumbled ? 

Oh, had I power like inclination, 

I'd heeze 3 thee up a constellation, 

To canter with the Sagitarre, 

Or loup the ecliptic like a bar, 

Or turn the pole like any arrow : 

Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow, 

Down the zodiac urge the race, 

And cast dirt on his godship's face : 

For I could lay my bread and kail, 

He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. — 

Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 

And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 

And nought but peat reek i' my head, 

How can I write what ye can read ? — 

Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 

Ye'll find me in a better tune ; 

But till we meet and weet our whistle. 

Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 

EOBEET BUSN6. 
1 Fire-place. * Weary. • Eaise. 



229 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB TO THE PRESIDENT 1 OF THB 
HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 

Long life, my Lord, an* health be yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors ; 
Lord grant nae duddie 2 desperate beggar, 
Wi* dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
May twin 3 auld Scotland o' a lite 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith you and A s were right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight ; 
I doubt na' ! they wad bid nae better 
Than let them ance out owre the water ; 
Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak what rules and laws they please ; 
Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
May set their Highland bluid a ranklin' ; 
Some Washington again may head them, 
Or some Montgomery fearless lead them, 
Till God knows what may be effected, 
"When by such heads and hearts directed — 
Poor dunghill sons of dn-t and mire 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! 
Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sackville, 
To watch and premier o'er the pack vile ; 
Aji' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 
To bring them to a right repentance, 
To cowe the rebel generation, 
An' save the honour o' the nation ? 

They an' be ! what right hae they 

To meat or sleep, or light o' day ? 

Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom, 

But what your Lordship likes to gie them P 

But hear, my Lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I fear ; 
Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 
I canna' say but they do gaylies ; 4 
They lay aside a' tender mercies, 
An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 
Yet while they're only pcind't and herriet,* 
They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit ; 
B'ut smash them ! crash them a' to spails ! 6 
An' rot the dyvors 7 i' the jails ! 

» Tho Earl of Breadalbane. 2 Ragged. s Deprive. 

* Pretty well. 

* Seized and plundered. 6 Chips. 7 Bankrupts. 



230 terms. 

The young do^s, swinge 1 them to the labour ; 
Let wark and hunger niak them sober ! 
The hizzies, if they're aughtlms fawsont,* 
Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd ! 
An' if the wives an' dirty brats 
E'en thigger 3 at your doors an' yetts 4 
Flaffan wi' duds 5 an' grey wi' beas', 
Frightin' awa your deucks an' geese, 
Get out a horsewhip, or a jowler. 
The langest thon£, the fiercest growler, 
An' gar the tatter'd gypsies pack 
"Wi' a' their bastarts on then' back ! 
Go on, my Lord ! I lang to meet you, 
An' in my house at hame to greet you ; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, 
The benmost neuk beside the ingle, 
At my ri^ht han' assign'd your seat 
Tween Herod's hip and Poly crate, — 
Or if you on your station tarrow, 6 
.Between Almagro and Pizarro, 
A seat. I'm sure ye're weel deserrin 't ; 
An' till ye come — Your humble servant, 

Beelzebub. 
Jur.e 1, Anno Mundi, 5790. 



TO }IE. JOHX KENEDY. 

ISTow, Kennedy, if foot or horse 

E'er bring you in by ]\iauchline Corse, 

Lord, man, there's lasses there wad torce 

A hermit's fancy, 
And down the gate, in faith, they're worse, 

And mair unchancy. 

But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
Till some bit callan brinsT me news 

ihat you are there, 
And if we dinna hand a bouze, 

l'se ne'er drink mair. 

it's no I like to sit an' swallow, 
Then like a swine to puke an' wallow; 

1 Whip. 2 Decent. 3 Crowd. 4 Farm-y&rd £*T««. 

5 Fluttering with rags. 6 Murmur 



ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ. 231 

But gie me just a true good fallow 

Wi' right ingine, 1 
And spunkie ance to make us mellow, 

And then we'll shine. 

Now, if ye're ane o' warl's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
An 'sklent on poverty their joke, 

Wi' bitter sneer, 
Wi' you no friendship will I troke, 

JN or cheap nor dear. 

But if, as I'm informed weel. 
Ye hate, as ill's the vera Deil. 
The flinty heart that canna feel — 

Come, Sir, here's tae you ; 
Hae, there's my haun', I wiss 2 you weel, 

And guid be wi' you. 



ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT DUNDAS, ESQ., OF ARNIS 
TON, LATE LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COURT OF 

SESSION. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying flocks 
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks : 
Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains, 
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains ; 
Beneath the blasts the leafless forests groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves ! 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye, 
Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar, 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 

O heavy loss, thy country ill could bear \ 

A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 

Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd her rod j 

Hearing the tidings of the fatal blow 

She sunk, abandon'd to the wildest woe. 

Wrongs, injuries from many a darksome den, 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men : 

* Genius, or disposition. 2 Wish. 



232 BURNS. 

See from his cavern grim Oppression rise, 
And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes ; 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly, 
And stifle, dark, the feebly -bursting cry : 

Mark ruffian Violence, distain'd with crimes, 

Rousing elate in these degenerate times ; 

Yiew unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 

As guileful Fraud points out the erring way : 

"While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 

The life-blood equal sucks of Eight and Wrong: 

Hark, injured Want recounts th unlisten'd tale, 

And much-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' unpitied wail ! 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, 
To you I sing my grief- inspired strains : 
Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign, 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, 
To mourn the woes my country must endure, 
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 



TO JOHN M'MUEDO, ESQ. 1 

O, could I give thee India's wealth, 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold could never buy- 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



ON THE DEATH OP A LAP-DOG, NAMED ECHJ. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half-extinct your powers of song, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 



» Steward to tbe Duke of Queeusberry. 



the risk's alarm. 233 

Ye jarring, screeching things around, 

Scream jour discordant joys ; 
Now half your din of tuneless sound 

With Echo silent lies. 



THE KIKE'S ALAEM.* 

A SATIRE. 

Orthodox, orthodox, 

Wha believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience — 

There's a heretic blast, 

Has been blawn i' the wast, 
That what is not sense must be nonsense. 

Doctor Mac, Doctor Mac, 

Ye should stretch on a rack, 
To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon any pretence, 
Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was mad, I declare, 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing 5 

Provost John is still deaf 

To the Church's relief, 
And orator Bob 2 is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 
Tho' your heart's like a child, 

1 It is impossible to look back now to the civil war which then raged 
among the churchmen of the west of Scotland, without confessing that on 
either side there was much to regret, and not a little to blame ; and no one 
can doubt that, in the, at best, unsettled state of Robert Burns' principles, 
the unhappy effect must have been powerful indeed, as to him. M'Gill ani 
Dalrymple, the two ministers of the town of Ayr, had long beea suspected of 
entertaining heterodox opinions. The gentry of the country took, for the 
most part, the side of M'Gill ; the bulk of the lower orders espoused the 
cause of those who conducted the prosecution against this erring Doctor. 
Gavin Hamilton, and all persons of his stamp, were, of course, on the side 
of M'Gill ; Aula, and the Mauchline Elders, with his enemies. Mr. Robert 
Aiken, a writer in Ayr, had the principal management of M'GhTs cause. 
He was an intimate friend of Hamilton, and through him had formed an 
acquaintance which now ripened into a warm friendship with Burns. M'Gill, 
Dalrymple, and their, brethren were the New-Light Pastors of his earliest 
N Satires." — Lockharfs Ufe of Burns, p. 60. 

* .Robert Aiken, agent, or, as we should say, attorney for Dr. M'Gill. 



234 BUEXS. 

And your life like tlie new-driren snaw, 

Yet that winna save ye, 

Old Satan must have ye, 
For preaching that three's ane an' tws. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 

Seize your spiritual guns, 
Ammunition ye never can need ; 

Your hearts are the stuff, 

Will be powder enough, 
And your skulls are storehouses of lead. 

Eumble John, Rumble John, 1 

Mount the steps wi' a groan, 
Cry, the book is with heresy cramm'd ; 

Then lug out your ladle, 

Deal brimstone like adle, 2 
And roar every note o' the damn'd. 

Simper James, Simper James,* 

Leave the fair Killie dames, 
There's a holier chase in your view ; 

I'll lay on your head, 

That the pack ye'll soon lead, 
For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie, 4 

Are ye herding the penny, 
Unconscious what danger awaits ? 

With a jump, yell, and howl, 

Alarm every soul, 
For Hannibal's just at your gates. 

Andrew Gowk. Andrew G-owk, 5 

Ye may slander the book, 
And the book nought the waur — let me tell yoa; 

Tho' ye're rich and look big, 

Yet lay by hat and wig. 
And ye'll hae a calf's-head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steenie, Barr Steenie, 6 
What mean ye ? what mean ye P 

1 John Kussell, with the loud voice. 2 Stagnant water. 

• James ATKinla. 4 Alexander Aloodie. 5 Dr. AlitchelL 

6 Stephen Young, Barr. 



the kiek's alarm. 235 

If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 

Ye may liae some pretence 

To bavins and sense 
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, 1 

Ye bae made but toom roose, 
In bunting tbe wicked Lieutenant ; 

But the Doctor's your mark, — 

For tbe Lord's baly ark, 
He bas cooper'd and ca'd a wrang pin in t. 

Davie Bluster, Davie Bluster, 2 

For a saunt if ye muster, 
It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits, 

Yet to worth let's be just, 

Royal blood ye might boast, 
If the ass was the king o' tbe brutes. 

Muirland Jock, Muirland Jock, 3 

When tbe L makes a rock, 

To crush Common Sense for her sins ; 

If ill manners were wit, 

There's no mortal so fit, 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Cessnocfcside, Cessnockside, 4 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
O' manhood but sma' is your share; 

Ye've the figure, it's true, 

Even our faes maun allow, 
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair. 

Daddie Auld, Daddie Auld, 5 

There's a tod 6 i' the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ; 7 

Tho' ye downa do skaith, 

Ye'll be in at the death, 
And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns, 



1 Mr. Young. 2 Mr. Grant. 3 Mr. John Sheppard. 
Hr. G. Smith. 5 Of Mauchline. « f ox> 7 Gavin Haxmlic*. 



236 BCBNS. 

Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
Tlio' your Muse is a gipsy, 
Yet were she even tipsy, 

She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 1 



DAEtfUE DAYIE. 

Kow rosy May conies in wi' flowers. 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers >, 
And now come in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

CHOEUS. 

Meet me on the warlock-kuowe,' 
Daintie Davie, daintie Davie, 

There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear daintie Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then through the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
I nee to his arms I lo'e best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

1 The chosen champions of the Auld Light, in Ayrshire, presented, in many 
particulars of personal conduct and demeanour, as broad a mark as eveF 
tempted the shafts of a satirist. That Burns has grossly overcharged the 
portraits of them, deepening the shadows that were suineiently dark, aud 
excluding altogether those brighter, and perhaps softer, traits of character 
which redeemed the originals within the sympathies of many of the worthiest 
and best of men, seems equally clear. — Lock-hart, p. 62. 

* A knoll where wizards have held trysto. 



237 



THE SELKIRK GEACE. 1 

Some hae meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it ; 

But we hae meat and we can eat, 
And sae the Lord be thankit. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF PEG NICHOLSON. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

As ever trode on aim ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

An' past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

An' rode thro' thick an' thin ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

An' wanting ev'n the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

An' ance she bare a priest ; 
But now she 's floating down the Nith, 

For Sol way fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a gude bay mare, 

An' the priest he rode her sair ; 
An' nieikle oppress 'd an' bruised she was, 

As priest-rid cattle are. 



ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE IN A FAVOURITE 
CHARACTER. 

Sweet naivete of feature, 

Simple, wild, enchanting elf, 
Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 

Thou art acting but thyself. 

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 

Spurning nature, torturing art ; 
Loves and graces all rejected, 

Then indeed thou'd'st act a part. 

1 Said by Burns, at the request of the Ear! of Selkirk* 



238 



BUBNS. 



THE LEAGUE AJSTD COVENANT. 1 

The Solemn League and Covenant 

Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears : 

But it seal'd Freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou 'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. 



ON MISS JESSY LEWAES. 

Talk not to me of savages 

Erom Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my heart, 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 

But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight, 
"Not ev'n to view the Heavenly choir, 

"Would be so blest a sight. 



EPITAPH ON MISS JESSY LEWAES.* 

Say, Sages, what's the charm on earth 

Can turn Death's dart aside ? 
It is not purity and worth, 

Else Jessy had not died. 



THE EECOVEEY OF JESSY LEWAIIS. 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 

The natives of the sky, 
Yet still one Seraph's left od earth, 

For Jessy did not die. 



THE TOAST. 

Fill me with the rosy wine, 
Call a toast, a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame, 
Lovely Jessy be the name ; 
Then thou mayest freely boast, 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 

1 In reply to a gentleman who undervalued the sufferings of Scotland " for 
conscience sake." 

2 Playfully written, when she was indisposed. 



239 



THE KIKE OF LAMINGTOK 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few ; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be bet 1 ere I come back. 



TO MISS C— WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF ONE OF 
MISS HANNAH MOKE'S WORKS. 

Thou nattering mark of friendship kind, 
Still may thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor : 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the heart, 

Does both the sexes honour. 
She showed her taste refined and just 

When she selected thee, 
Yet deviating, own I must, 
For so approving me. 

But kind still, I'll mind still 

The giver in the gift ; 
I'll bless her and wiss her 
A Friend above the Lift. 1 



INSCBIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

There's death in the cup — sae beware ! 

Nay, more — there is danger in touching 5 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 

The man and his wine sae bewitching ! 



THE BOOK-WOEMS. 3 

Through and through the inspired leaves, 
Ye maggots, make your windings ; 

But, oh ! respect his Lordship's taste, 
And spare his golden bindings. 

* Hot. 2 Sky. 

• Suggested by a splendicuy Douud, but worm-eaten copy of Shakspea. 



240 BUENS, 



ON ROBERT RIDDEL. 

To Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear ; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth P 

The ivied cot revere. 



WILLIE CHALMERS. 1 

"WV braw new branks in mickle pride, 

And eke a braw new brechan, 2 
My Pegasus I'm got astride, 

And up Parnassus pechin ; 3 
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush, 

The doited beastie stammers ; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets, 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame, 

Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet, 

His honest heart enamours, 
And, faith, ye'll no be lost a whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fair, 

And Honour safely back her, 
And Modesty assume your air, 

And ne'er a ane mistak her : 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might fire even holy Palmers ; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt nae fortune may you shore 
Some mim-mou'd 4 poutliered priestie ; 

Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore, 
And band upon his breastie : 

1 Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, 
teked me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen 
fter, but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows. — K. B. 
* With new bridle and collar. 3 Panting. * Gentle-mouthed. 



TO JOHN TATLOR. 241- 

But oh ! what signifies to you, 

His lexicons and grammars ; 
The feeling heart's the royal blue, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers, 

Some gapin' glowrin' countra laird 

May warsle for your favour ; 
May claw his lug, and straik his beard, 

And hoast up some palaver; 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy- witted hammers, 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the Bard ! my fond regard, 

For ane that shares my bosom, 
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues, 

For deil a hair I roose 1 him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon, 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To you and Willie Chalmers. 



TO JOHN TAYLOK. 2 

With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo, weary flying, — 
Through frosty hills the journey lay, 

On foot the way was plying. 

Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker ; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 

To get a frosty calker. 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work, 
Threw by his coat and bonnet, 

And did Sol's business in a crack ; 
Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster ; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

I'll pay you like my master. 

1 Praise. 
* Burns, during one of his excise journeys, on a winter day, found it 
necessary to get his horse's shoes "roughed." The blacksmith was ver 
busy ; and the Poet sought Mr. Taylor's influence in obtaining his aid. 

B 



242 BURNS. 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE. 






The following verses, in the handwriting: of Burns, were copied from a 
bank-note, in the possession of Mr. James F. Grade, of Dumfries. The nets 
is of the Bank of Scotland, and is dated on the 1st of March, 1780. 

Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf ! 

Eell source o' a' my woe and grief! 

Eor lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 

For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 

I see the children of affliction 

Unaided, thro' thy curs'd restriction. 

I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile, 

Amid his hapless victim's spoil, 

And for thy potence vainly wish'd, 

To crush the villain in the dust. 
For lack o' thee I leave this much-lov'd shore, 
Never, perhaps, to greet old Scotland more. 



BURNS— EXTEMPORE. 

Ye true ( Loyal Natives,' 1 attend to my song, 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 

From envy and hatred your corps is exempt : 

But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ? 



REMORSE. 2 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, 
That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, 
Beyond comparison, the worst are those 
That to our folly, or our guilt, we owe. 

1 The political fever ran high in 1794, and a member of a club at Dura- 
fries, called the Loyal Natives, in a violent paroxysm, produced some verses 
to which Burns gave the extempore reply. 

2 I entirely agree with that judicious philosopher, Mr. Smith, in his ex- 
cellent M Theory oi Moral Sentiments," that remorse is themost painful senti- 
ment that can embitter the human bosom. Any ordinary pitch of fortitude 
may bear up tolerably well under those calamities in the procurement of 
which we ourselves have had no hand ; but when our own follies or crimes 
have made us miserable and wretched, to bear up with manly firmness, and 
at the same time have a proper penitential sense of our misconduct, is a 
glorious effort of self-command. — R. B. 



IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE. 243 

In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — " It was no deed of mine;" 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

This sting is added — " Blame thy foolish self !" 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen Remorse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt — 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others ; 

The young, the innocent, who fondly luv'd us ; 

Kay, more, that very love their cause of ruin ! 

O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments, 

There's not a keener lash ! 

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 

Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 

And, after proper purpose of amendment, 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? 

O, happy ! happy ! enviable man ! 

O glorious magnanimity of soul ! 



TO . 

Mossgiel, , 1786. 

SlE, 

Yours this moment I unseal, 

And faith I'm gay and hearty ! 
To tell the truth an' shame the Deil, 

I am as fu' as Bartie : l 
But foorsday, Sir, my promise leal 

Expect me o' your party, 
If on a beastie I can speel, 2 
Or hurl in a cartie. 

E. B. 



" IN VAIN WOULD PRUDENCE." 

In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, 
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear ; 
Above that world on wings of love I rise, 
I know its worst — and do that worst despise. 
" "Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd, unpitied, unredrest,- 
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest," 
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, 
Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all ! 

i A proverb for a drinker * Clin. b„ 

» s 



244 



BUBNS. 



"THOUGH PICKLE FORTUNE."* 

Though fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me, 
She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill ; 

Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me, 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. — 

I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, 
But if success I must never find, 

Then come, Misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 
I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind. 



•• I BUKN, I BUEN." * 

" I burn, I burn, as when thro* ripen'd corn, 
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne," 
Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night ; 
Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight. 
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose : 
Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquished foes 
In vain Religion meets my sinking eye ; 
I dare not combat — but I turn and fly ; 
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallowed fire; 
Love grasps his scorpions — stifled they expire ! 
Reason drops heatUong from his sacred throne, 
Your dear idea reigns and reigns alone : 
Each thought intoxicated homage yields. 
And riots wanton in forbidden fields r . 

By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
By all the conscious villain fears below ! 
B} r your dear self! — the last great oath I swear 5 
Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear ! 

t The above was an extempore, under the pressure of a heavy train of 
misfortunes, which, indeed, threatened to undo me altogether. It was just 
at the close of that dreadful period before mentioned (March, 1784) ; and 
though the weather has brightened up a little with me since, yet there has 
always been a tempest brewing round me in the grim sky of futurity, which 
I pretty plainly see will some time or other, perhaps ere long, overwhelm 
me, and drive me into some doleful dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretch- 
edness. However, as I hope my poor country Muse, who, all rustic, 
awkward, and unpolished as she is, has more charms for mi than any other 
of the pleasures of life beside — as I hope she will not then desert me, I may 
end then learn to be, if not happy, at least easy, and south a tang to ecoth-s 
my misery. *~R. B. 

* To Clarinda. 



245 



TAM THE CHAPMAN. ■ 

As Tarn, the Chapman, on a day 
Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 
Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight sae famous, 
And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thomas, 
Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 
And there blaws up a hearty crack ; 
His social, friendly, honest heart, 
Sae tickled Death they could Da part : 
Sae after viewing knives and garters, 
Death takes him hame to gie him quartern 



TO DR. MAXWELL, ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 

That merit I deny : 
You save fair Jessy from the grave ! 

An Angel could not die. 



ON A SICK CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face. 

JNae mair my Dearie smiles ; 
Pale sickness withers ilka grace, 

And a* my hopes beguiles. 

The cruel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak for thee ; 
Ye Heavens, how great is my despair, 

How can I see him die ! 



TO THE OWL. 

BY JOHN M'CREDDIE. 1 

Sad Bird of Night, what sorrow calls thee forth, 
To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour 

Is it some blast that gatners in the north, 
Threat'ning to nip the verdure of thy bow'r ? 

1 Mr. Kennedy, who is styled " Chapman," in allusion to his connexioa 
with a mercantile house, as agent. 

2 Mr. M'Creddie is supposed to he a mythical personage, the verses h>" ^ 
been found in the hand-writing of Burns. 



246 BURNS. 

Is it, sad Owl, that Autumn strips the shade, 
And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and forlorn P 

Or fear that Winter will thy nest invade ? 
Or friendly Melancholy bids thee mourn P 

Shut out, lone Bird, from all the feather'd train, 
To tell thy sorrows to th' unheeding gloom ; 

No friend to pity when thou dost complain, 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home. 

Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy strain, 
And pleased in sorrow listen to thy song : 

Sing on, sad mourner ! to the night complain, 
While the lone echo wafts thy notes along. 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 
Sad piteous tears in native sorrows fall ? 

Less kind the heart, when Sorrow bids it break P 
Less happy he who lists to Pity's call ? 

Ah no, sad Owl ! nor is thy voice less sweet, 
That Sadness tunes it, and that Grief is there ; 

That Spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou canst repeat \ 
And Sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair. 

Nor that the treble songsters of the day, 

Are quite estranged, sad Bird of night ! from thee ; 

Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray, 
When darkness calls thee from thy reverie. 

From some old tower, thy melancholy dome, 
While the grey walls and desert solitudes 

Return each note, responsive, to the gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods ; 

There hooting, I will list more pleased to thee, 

Than ever lover to the nightingale ; 
Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with misery, 

Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 



"WAS E'ER PUIR POET." 1 

44 Was e'er puir Poet sae befitted, 

The maister drunk — the horse committed : 

Puir harmless beast ! tak thee nae care, 

Thou'lt be a horse, when he's nae mair (mayor)." 

i Burns once visited Carlisle ; and while he was in the condition which 
lis verses describe, the Mayor put his horsej which had trespassed on a cor- 
poration msadow, into the " pound." 



247 



MERE'S NAETHING LIKE THE HONEST NAPPY. 

There's naething like the honest nappy ! 
Whaur '11 ye e'er see men sae happy, 
Or women sonsie, saft, an' sappy, 

'Tween morn and morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 

In glass or horn. 
I've seen me daez't upon a time ; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ; l 
Just ae hauf muchkin 2 does me prime, 

Ought less is little ; 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme 

As gleg 's a whittle f 



TO THE RUINS OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY.* 

Ye holy walls, that still sublime 
Resist the crumbling touch of Time, 
How strongly still your form displays 
The piety of ancient days. 
As through your ruins, hoar and grey— 
Ruins, yet beauteous in decay — 
The silvery moonbeams trembling fly, 
The forms of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on Fancy's wond'ring eye, 
And wake the soul to musings high. 
Ev'n now, as lost in thought profound, 
I view the solemn scene around, 
And pensive gaze with wistful eyes, 
The past returns, the present flies ; 
Again the dome, in pristine pride, 
Lifts high its roof, and arches wide, 
That, knit with curious tracery 
Each Gothic ornament display ; 
The high-arched windows, painted fair, 
Show many a saint and martyr there ; 
As on their slender forms I gaze, 
Methinks they brighten to a blaze ; 
With noiseless step and taper bright, 
What are yon forms that meet my sight ? 
Slowly they move, while every eye 
Is heavenward raised in ecstasy : — 

1 Glimmer. 2 Half-a-pint. 

8 On the banks of the river Cluden, near Dumfries. The verses were 
ascribed to Burns by an anonymous writer, and are inclu<i*£ in later 
editions of his works. 



248 BT7EN8. 

'lis the fair, spotless, vestal tram, 

That seeks in prayer the midnight fane. 

And hark ! what more than mortal sound 

Of music breathes the pile around ? 

Tis the soft-chaunted choral song, 

Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong : 

Till thence return'd they softly stray 

O'er Cluden's wave with fond delay ; 

"Now on the rising gale swell high, 

And now in fainting murmurs die : 

The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream, 

That glistens in the pale moon's beam, 

Suspend their dashing oars to hear 

The holy anthem, loud and clear ; 

Each worldly thought awhile forbear, 

And mutter forth a half-formed prayer. 

But as I gaze, the vision fails, 

Like frost-work touch'd by southern gales ; 

The altar sinks, the tapers fade, 

And all the splendid scene's decay'd. 

In window fair the painted pane 

No longer glows with holy stain, 

But, through the broken glass, the gale 

Blows chilly from the misty vale. 

The bird of eve nits sullen by, 

Her home, these aisles and arches high : 

The choral hymn, that erst so clear 

Broke softly sweet on Fancy's ear, 

Is drown'd amid the mournful scream, 

That breaks the magic of my dream : 

Roused by the sound, I start and see 

The ruin'd, sad reality. 



PROLOGUE,* SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS, ON HIS BENEFIT 
NIGHT, MONDAY, APRIL 16, 1787. 

When by a generous Public's kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame : 
When here your favour is the actor's lot, 
Nor even the man in private life forgot ; 
What breast, so dead to heav'nly virtue's glow, 
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe P 
Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 
It needs no Siddons' power in Southern's song : 

1 Ascribed to Burns on Yer; slight evidence. 



TBaC*Iu fragment. 249 

But here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 
For genius, learning high, as great in war- 
Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear ! 
Where every science, every nobler art — 
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart. 
Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found, 
Par as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
Philosophy, no idle, pedant dream, [beam > 

Here holds her search, by heaven- taught Reason '■ 
Here History paints, with elegance and force, 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 
Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, 
And Harley rouses all the God in man. 
When well-form'd taste, and sparkling wit unite, 
With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 
Can only charm us in the second place), 
Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, 
As on this night, I've met these judges here ! 
But still the hope Experience taught to live, 
Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. 
"No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, 
With decency and law beneath his feet, 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 

O Thou, dread Power ! whose empire-giving hand 
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd land ! 
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ; 
May every son be worthy of his sire ; 
Firm may she rise with generous disdain 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, chain ; 
Still self-dependent in her native shore, 
Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar 
Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more ! 



TEAGIC FRAGMENT. 1 

" All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 
A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain, 
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness ; 
And with sincere, tho' unavailing, sighs 
I view the helpless children of distress. 
With tears indignant I behold the oppressor 

1 In my early years nothing les9 would serve me than courting the Tragia 
41 use. I was, I think, about eighteen or nineteen when I sketched the out* 



250 BUBNS. 

Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 
Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 
Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 
Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity ; 
Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds, 
"Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to Ruin, 

but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends, 

1 had been driven forth like you, forlorn, 

The most detested, worthless wretch among you! 

O injur'd GoA ! thy goodness has endow'd me 

With talents passing most of my compeers, 

Which I in just proportion have abus'd 

As far surpassing other common villains, 

As Thou in natural parts hadst given me more." 



O CAN YE LABOUR LEA. 

can ye labour lea, young man, 
An' can ye labour lea ; 

Gae back the gate ye earn/ again, 
Ye'se never scorn me. 

1 feed a man at Martinmas, 
Wi' airl 1 -pennies three ; 

An* a' the faut I fan' wi' him, 
He couldna labour lea. 

The stibble rig is easy plough'd, 

The fallow land is free ; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof, 

That couldna labour lea ? 



O Thou, in whom we live and move, 
Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove, 
And grateful would adore. 

And if it please thee, Pow'r above ! 

Still grant us with such store, 
The friend we trust, the fair we love, 
And we desire no more. 

Knes of a tragedy, forsooth : but the bursting of a cloud of family misio* « 
tunes, which had for some time threatened us, prevented my further pro- 
cess. In those days I never wrote down anything ; so, except a speech or 
two, the whole has escaped my memory. The following, which I most dis- 
tinctly remember, was an exclamation from a great character — great in 
occasional instances of generosity, and daring at times in villanies. — £. B. 
1 Silver penny given as nuing money. 



>jmgs. 



THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. 1 

Turns — 'miss fobbes's fabewell TO BANFF.* 

Twas even— the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
The Zephyrs wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In every glen the Mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while, 
Except where green-wood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray 'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 

" Behold the Lass o' Ballochmyle F 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild, 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wandering in a lonely wild : 
But Woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile ; 
£v'n there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

1 ■' The Lass of Ballochmyle" was Miss Alexander, whose brother had re- 
cently come to reside in Ballochmyle House, of which the pleasure grounds 
extend along the north bank of the Ayr. The farm of Burns, Mossgiel, was 
in the immediate neighbourhood. — He inclosed a copy of the song to Miss 
Alexander, and was extremely indignant at the lady's silence respecting his 
letter. Of the verses his own opinion was justly high : — " I think myself," he 
told Mrs. Stewart of Stair, " it has some merit, both as a tolerable descrip- 
tion of one of Nature's scenes— a July evening, and one of the finest pieces of 
Nature's workmanship, — the finest indeed we know any thing of— an amiable, 
beautiful young woman." 



252 BCENS. 

O, liad she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain : 
Thro' weary Winter's wind and rain, 

With joy 5 with rapture, I would toil ; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold mi^ht tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine : 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the nocks, or till the soil, 
And every day have joys divine, 

With the bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle. 1 



SOXG OF DEATH. 2 



A GAELIC AIE. 

8cene — A field of battle. Time of the day — Evening. The wounded and 
dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the song. 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 

Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties, 

Our race of existence is run ! 

Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe ! 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 

No terrors hast thou for the brave ! 

Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he sinks m the dark, 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 

In the field of proud honour — our swords in our hands, 

Our King and our Country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 

O ! who would not die with the brave ! 

1 Under the above song is written " Miss Willie Alexander." 
8 "When the pressing nature of public aifair3 called, in 1795, for a geners 
arming of the people, Burns appeared in the ranks of the " Dumfries Volun- 
teers," employed his poetical talents in stimulating their patriotism; and at 
this season of alarm he brought forward the following hymn.— (Cubbib ) The 
•ong was written in 1791. 



253 



MY AIN KIND DEAEIE ! O. 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bugh tin-time 1 is near, my jo ; 
And owsen 2 frae the furrow'd field 

Return sae dowf and wearie, O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birks 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My cm kind dearie ! O. 

In mirk est glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey, 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie ! O. 



AULD EOB MOEEIS. 

There's auld Eob Morris that wons 3 in yon glen, 
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men g 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as lamb on the lea, 
Ana dear to my heart, as the light to my e'e. 

But oh ! she's an heiress, auld Eobin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought bat a cot-house and yard \ 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; 
The wound I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

1 Time of collecting the sheep. * Oxen* * Dwell*. 



254 BURNS. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 

had she but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ; 
O how past describing had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express/ 



NAEBODY. 

I hae a wife o' my ain, 
I'll partake wi' naebody ; 

I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 
I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 

I hae a penny to spend, 

There — thanks to naebody ; 

I hae naething to lend, 
I'll borrow frae naebody. 

I am naebody's lord, 

I'll be slave to naebody ; 

I hae a guid braid sword, 
I'll tak dunts 1 frae naebody. 

I'll be merry and free, 
I'll be sad for naebody ; 

If naebody care for me, 
I'll care for naebody. 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 8 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

1 Knocks. 
* There is peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a necessity of 
adapting syllables to the "emphasis, or what. I would call the feature-notes 
of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him under almost insuperable diffi- 
culties. For instance, in the air, " My Wife's a wanton wee Thing," if a few 
lines, smooth and pretty, can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The 
following were made extempore to it : and though, on further study, I might 
give you something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horsa 
galiop of the air so well as this random clink. — Bubns to Thomson. 



DUNCAN GEAY. 255 

I never saw a fairer, 

I never lo'ed a dearer, 

And neist 1 my heart I'll wear her, 

For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warld's wrack we share o't, 
The warstl-? and the care o't ; 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



DUNCAN GEAY. 8 

Duncan Gray came here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
On blythe yule 3 night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost 4 her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 5 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh •* 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleech'd, 7 and Duncan pray'd ; 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and bUn',* 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ; 9 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 

i Next. 
* The foregoing I submit to your better judgment; acquit them or condemn 
them as seemeth good in your sight. " Duncan Gray" is that kind of light- 
horse gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling 
feature. — Burns to Thomson. 

3 Christmas. * Tossed. 5 Proud. 

6 At a shv distance. 7 Besought. s Bleared and blind. 9 Precipice. 



256 BTTBNS. 



Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me . 
Ha, ha, &c. 

How it comes let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg grew sick — as he grew well, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they ppak sic things ! 

Ha, ha, &e. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, &e. 
Duncan couldna be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd 1 his wrath ; 
New they're crouse and cantie 2 baith, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



O POOETITH. 

TUNE — "I HAD A HOBSE." 

O pooetith cauld, and restless love, 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An' 't were na for my Jeanie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining P 

This warld's wealth when I think on, 
Its pride, and a' the lave o'fc; 

Fie. fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, &c. 

Her e'en sae bonnie blue betray 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword aye, 

She talks of rank and fashion. 

O why, &c. 

* Smothered. * Cheerful ana meny. 



GALLA WATEE, ETC. 257 

O wlia can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? 

O why, &c. 

How blest the humble cotter's late! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The sillie bogles, 1 wealth and state, 
Can never make them eerie. 

O why should fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining ? 



GALLA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro' the blooming heather; 

But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, 
Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

i5ut there is an**, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better ; 

And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 

Altho' his daddie was nae laird, 
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher ;* 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 
That coft 3 contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
O that's the chiefest war Id's treasure ! 



LORD GREGORY. 4 

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar ; 
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, 

Lord Gregory, — ope thy door. 

1 Hobgoblins. 2 Marriage portion. * Bought. 

* A friend of Burns writes — "We had the song of 'Lord Gregory,' which 
I asked for to have an opportunity of calling on Barns to recite hisballad to 
that tune. He did iecite it, and such was the effect that a dead silence 
ensued." 

9 



258 BURNS. 

Ail exile frae her father's ha*, 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it mayna be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, 

By bonnie Irwine side, 
"Where first I own'd that virgin-love, 

I lang, lang had denied ? 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow, 
Thou wad for aye be mine ! 

And my fond heart, itsel sae true, 
It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

O will thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love, 

His wrangs to heaven and me ! 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! 

WITH ALTERATIONS. 

Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, 

Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, oh ! 
The frost, that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains fra thee, oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 

And time is setting with me, oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh ! 
My true love ! she cried, and sank down by his side, 

JNever to rise again, oh ' 



259 
MEG- O* THE MILL. 

JJB— "HEY, BONNIE LASS, WILL YOU LIE IN A BABBACK* 

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten P 
She has gotten a coof 1 wi' a claut 2 o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy ; 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady ; 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit 3 knurl ; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving ; 
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving, 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen ! 4 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 5 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! 



JESSIE. 

TUNE — "BONNIE DUNDE3.' 



Tetje hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain •, 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; 

Enthron'd in her een he delivers his la'. 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger,— 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'. 

1 Blockhead a A scraping. * Crooked, bleared. * .Farm, 5 Speech. 

*2 



260 BUENS. 



WANDEKING WILLIE. 

Heee awa, there awa, wandering Willie ; 

Now tired with wandering, hand awa name ; 
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 

Tell me thou bring 'st me my Willie the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and canld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought the tear in my e'e t 

Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me ! 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o* your slumbers j 
How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 

Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, 
And waft my dear laddie ance inair to my arms. 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
O still flow between us, thou wide-roaring main ; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 



LOGAN BEAES. 1 

TUNE — "LOGAN WATEE." 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun ; 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 

Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flowers ; 

Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, 

And evening's tears are tears of joy : 

My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

1 The song was the fruit of "three-quarters of an hour's meditation " by 
tte poet iu his elbow-chair, on the wickedness of ambition. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 261 

"Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush: 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
JSTae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow 'd nights and joyless clays, 
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes. 

O wae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye mak monie a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy days, 
And Willie name to Logan Braes ! 



THEEE WAS A LASS. 1 

TUNE— "BONNIE JEA.N." 

There was a lass, and she was fair, 
At kirk and market to be seen ; 

When a' the fairest maids were met, 
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 

And aye she wrought her mammie's wark^ 
And aye she sang sae merrily ; 

The blithest bird upon the bush 
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the teDder joys 
That bless the little lmtwhite's nest ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers ; 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Bobie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down 5 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was sto\nL 

1 Miss Jean M'Murdo, of Di-umlanrig. 



262 BURNS. 



As in the bosom o' the stream 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en $ 

So trembling, pure, was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 

And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

5Tet wistna what her ail might be, 
Or what wad mak her weel again. 

.But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, 
And didna joy blink in her e'e, 

As E,obie tauld a tale o' love, 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea 9 

The sun wa3 sinking m the west, 
The br^dr sang sweet in ilka grove ; 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' lovo : 

u O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me P 

u At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge, 
Or naething else to trouble thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi' me. H 

Now what could artless Jeanie do f 
She had nae will to say him na : 

At length she blush' d a sweet consent*, 
And love was aye between them twa» 



PHILLIS THE FAIE, 1 

TUNB — " BOBIN ADAIB." 

While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing springs 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains highs 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 

i Said to be the sister of Jean M'MurdC. 



BY ALLAN STREAM. 263 

In each bird's careless song 

Glad did I share ; 
While yon wild flowers among, 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair 

Down in a shady walk, 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the cruel hawk 

Caught in a snare : 
So kind may Fortune be, 
Such make his destiny, 
He who would injure thee, 

Phillis the fair. 



BY ALLA1ST STREAM. 1 

TUNE — "ALLAN WATEE." 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to ro^e, 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;* 
The winds were whispering thro' the grove, 

The yellow corn was waving ready : 
I listen'd to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures manie ! 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang — 

O dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 3 

O, happy be the woodbine bower, 

£Tae nightly bogle mak it eerie ; 
IVor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 

1 I walked out yesterday evening, with a volume of the " Museum" in my 
hand; when turning up "Allan AVater," " What numbers shall the Muse 
repeat," &c, as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, 
and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat, and raved, under the shade of 
an old thorn, till I wrote out one to suit the measure. I may be wrong, but 
I think it not in my worst style. You must know, that in Kamsay's 
"Tea-table," where the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the 
tune, Allan says, is " Allan Water," or " My love Annie's very bonnie." 
This last has certainly been a line of the original song ; so I took up the idea, 
and, as you will see, have introduced the line in its place, which I presume it 
formerly occupied ; though I likewise give you a choosing line, if it should 
not hit the cut of your fancy. " Bravo," say I : "it is a good song." — Bxjeks 
to Thomson. 

* A mountain west of Strathallan, 3000 feet high. — B.B* 
3 Or, " O my love Annie's very bonnie." — R.B 8 



864 BTTENS. 

Her head upon my throbbing breast, 
She, sinking, said "I'm thine for ever!" 

While monie a kiss the seal imprest, 
The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae ; 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery, thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or, thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure P 



HAD I A CAVE. 

TUXE — "BOBIN ADAIB." 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar ; 

There would I weep my woes, 

There seek my lost repose, 

Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare 
All thy fond plighted vows— fleeting as air P 

To thy new lover hie, 

Laugh o'er thy perjury, 

Then in thy bosom try, 
What peace is there ! 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD, 

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 

And comena unless the back-yett be a-jee; 

Syne up the back -stile, and let naebody see, 

And come as ye werena comin to me. 

And come, &c. 

At Kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'dna a Hie : 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUK STUIFE. 265 

But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye werena lookin at me. 
Yet look, &e. 

O whistle, &c. 

Aye vow and protest that ye carena for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; 
But courtna anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, &c. 

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STEIFE. 

TUNE— "JO JANET." 

" Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
Tho' I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir.'* 

" One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Is it man, or woman, say, 

My spouse, Nancy P" 

" If 'tis still the lordly word, 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sov'reign lord, 

And so, good-bye, allegiance !" 

" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy ! 
Yet I'll try to make a shift, 
My spouse, Nancy." 

" My poor heart then break it must, 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust, 

Think, think how you will bear it, 5 * 

" I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Strength to bear it will be given, 

My spouse, Nancy." 



266 



BUBSS. 



"Well, Sir, from the silent dead 
Still I'll try to daunt you ; 

.Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.* 

" I'll wed another, like my dear 
Nancy, Nancy ; 

Then all hell will fly for fear, 
My spouse, Is ancy." 



DELUDED SWAIN. 

TU-M4 — "THE COLLIEE's DOCHTEI\/* 

Deluded swain, the pleasure, 
The fickle Fair can give thee, 

Is but a fairy treasure, 

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee, 

The billows on the ocean, 
The breezes idly roamin', 

The clouds' uncertain motion, — 
They are but types of woman. 

O ! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature ? 
If man thou wouldst be named, 

Despise the silly creature. 

Go. find an honest fellow ; 

Good claret set before thee: 
Hold on till thou art mellow, 

And then to bed in glory. 



SONG. 

TF2TE— " THE QUA-EEe'S WIFE." 

Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely iXancy ; 

Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish : 

Tho' despair had wrung its core, 
That would heal its anguish. 



BANKS OF CREE. 267 

Take away these rosy lips, 

Kich with balmy treasure ! 
Turn away thine eyes of love, 

Lest I die with pleasure ! 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning ! 
Love's the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEABIE? 

A NEW SCOTS SONG. 

TUNE — "THE SUTOB'S DOCHTEB." 

Wilt thou be my dearie 1 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee 1 

By the treasure of my soul, 

That's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that' only thou 

Shalt ever be my dearie — 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shalt ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me : 
If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me, 
Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me — 
Lassie, let me quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



HERE IS THE GLEN. 3 

TUNE — "BANES OF CBTiE." 

Here is the glen, and here the bower, 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village-bell has toll'd the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid ? 

1 Burns considered this to be one of his best songs. 
* I got an air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, <ft 
Heron, which she calls "The Banks of the Cree." Cree is a beautiful 
romantic stream ; and as her ladyship is a particular mend of mine, I have 
written this song to it. — it. B. 



268 BURNS. 



*Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove 
His little faithful mate to cheer, — 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come ? and art thou true ? 

O welcome, dear to love and me ! 
And let us all our vows renew, 

Along the hW'ry banks of Cree, 



ON THE SEAS AND FAB AWAY. 1 

TT7NE — "O'EB THE HILLS AND FAB AWAY." 

How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my Sailor lad P 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that's far away, 

On the seas and far away, 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 

When in summer's noon I faint, 

As weary flocks around me panfc, 

Ha] ly in this scorching sun 

My Sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 

Bullets, spare my only joy ! 

Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 

Fate, do with me what you may, 

Spare but him that's far away ! 

At the starless midnight hour, 

When winter rules with boundless power ; 

1 Burns was at first pleased with these verses, but he afterwards thought 
cheiu unequal and " flimsy." And his second thoughts were the best. 



HABK: THE MAVIS. 269 

As the storms the forest tear, 
And thunders rend the howling air, 
Listening to the doubling roar, 
Surging on the rocky shore, — 
All I can — I weep and pray, 
For his weal that's far away. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 

And bid wild War his ravage end, 

Man with brother man to meet, 

And as a brother kindly greet: 

Then may Heaven with prosp'rous gales 

Fill my Sailor's welcome sails, 

To my arms their charge convey, 

My dear lad that's far away. 

On the seas and far away 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 



HARK ! THE MAYIS. 

*UUE— " ca' the towes to the knowes." 
CHORUS. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie rows, 1 
My bonnie dearie. 

Hark ! the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang ! 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca the, &c. 

We'll gae dow y j by Clouden side, 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca* the, &c. 

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, 
Where at moonshine midnight hours* 
O'er the dewy-bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, &c. 

* Bolls. 



270 BUBNS. 



Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and Heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Fair and lovely as thon art, 
Thou hast stown 1 my very heart ; 
I can die — but canna part, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Ca* the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows, 
Ca' them where the burnie rows, 
My bonnie dearie. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'. 8 

TTJ2TE — "ONAGERS WATEE-FALL." 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'erarching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 
Her smiling, sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; 
"What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
Such was my Clitoris' bonnie face, 

When first her bonnie face I saw, 
And aye my Chlons' clearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ancle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky ; 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air; 
Hk feature — auld Nature 

Declar'd that she could do nae mair : 

i Stolen. 
* The lady in whose honour Burns composed this song was Miss Lorimez. 
of Craigieburn. 






HOW LANG AND DEEAEY. 271 

Hers are the willing chains o* love, 

By conquering Beauty's sovereign law ; 

And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 
She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes his sang ; 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love, 

And say thou lo'es me best of a' P 



HOW LANG- AJSJ) DEEAET. 

TUNE — "CATJLD KAIL IN ABEBDEEN." 

How lang and dreary is the night, 
When I am frae my dearie ; 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 

For oh ! her lanely nights are lang ; 

And oh ! her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh ! her widow'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 
I spent wi' thee, my dearie ? 

And now that seas between us roar,— 
How can I be but eerie ? 
For oh, &c. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours i 
The joyless day how drearie! 

It wasna sae ye glinted by, 
When I was wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 



272 buens. 

THE LOVEH'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. 

TUtfE — "DEIL TAK THE WABS." 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st tliou, fairest creature P 
Bosy morn now lifts his eye, 

IN" umbering ilka bud which Nature 
"Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now thro' the leafy woods, 

And by the reeking floods 
Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly stray ; 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower; 

The lav'rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day, 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o* morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade, 
Nature gladdening and adorning ; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When absent frae my fair, 

The murky shades o' care 
With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky : 

But when, in beauty's light, 

She meets my ravish'd sight. 

When thro' my very heart 

Her beaming glories dart ; 
'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. 



LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCK& 

TUNE — " BOTHIEIITTBCHIE'S HAN'T." 

CHORUS. 

Lassie wi* the lint- white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 

Wilt thou wi* me tent the flocks P 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O ? 
Lassie wi', &c. 

Miss Lorimer is reported to have inspired these versea. 



THE AULD MAN. 273 

And when the welcome simmer- shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way, 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi, &c. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest; 
Enclasped to my faithfu breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 

Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks P 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? l 






THE AULD MAN.* 

TUNE — " GIL MOBICE." 

But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoic'd tbe day, 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled, 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array.. 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe 5 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,* 

Sinks in time's wintry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why com'st thou not again ? 

- This piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral : the verna) 
moon, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter night, ai. 
regularly younded.— It. B. 

2 Thaw * Without shelter. 



274 BT7RN9. 

EAEEWELL, THOU STKEAM. 

TUNE— " NANCY' 8 TO THE GREENWOOD GANE." 

Fakewell, thou stream that winding flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 

Memry! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling : 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, 

Kor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 
I fain my griefs would cover : 

The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 
Betray the hapless lover. * 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 
iS^or wilt, nor canst, relieve me ; 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer,— 
Eor pity's sake forgive me ! 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

JS^or wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
*Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



CONTESTED WI' LITTLE. 

TUNE — " LUMPS O' PUDDING." 

Contented wi' little, and cantie 1 wi' mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
1 gie them a skelp 2 as they're creepin' alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, 3 and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o* troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught : 4 
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch, 

► Cheerful. » Slap. » Jug of good ale. * Fight. 



MY NANNIE'S AWA, ETC. 275 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers * it a' ; 
When at the blythe end of our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte 2 on her way, 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain ; 
My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome again !" 



MA NANNIE'S AWA. 

TUNE — "TIIEBE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE C03IES HAME." 

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn : 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie — my Nannie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews o' the, lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', 
Gie over for pity — my Nannie's awa. 

Come Autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay ; 
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild- driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa. 



SWEET EA'S THE EYE. 3 

TUNE—" CEAIGIEBUEN-WOOD." 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bura, 

And blythe awakes the morrow, 
But a' the pride o' spring's return 

Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

1 Solclers. 2 Mistake and stumble. 

8 Burns again celebrates Miss Lorimer. Craigieburn-wood is situate on 
the banks of the rirer Moffat. The woods of Craigieburn and of DuuwizL 
were, at onetime, favourite haunts of our poet. (Currie.) 

i2 



276 Bl'BKS. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild bird? singing ; 

But what a wears' wight can please. 
And care his bosom wringing ? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 
Yet dare na for your anger ; 

But secret love will break my heart, 
If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me. 

If thou shalt love anither. 
When yon ^reen leaves fa' frae the tre 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



LASSIE ART THOU SLEEPING YETP 

TT2TE — "LET HE Of THIS AE yiGHT." 

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet ? 
Or art thou wakin', I would wit ? 
For love has bound me. hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORE'S. 

O let me in this ae nicjht 

This ae, ae. ae night ; 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

O rise and let me in, jo. 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
2s"ae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ; 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws, 
Unheeded bowls, unheeded fa's : 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
let me in, &c. 

HER ANSWER. 

O tele na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauid disdain! 
Gae back the jxait ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo- 






SON0. 277 



CHORUS. 



I tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
And ance for a' this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest l blast, at mirkest 2 hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures, 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird 3 may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The bird that charm'd his summer-day, 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey : 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 



SONG-. 

TTJNE — "HTJMOUES OF GLE1T 



Their groves o' sweet myrtles let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt their perfume ; 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 4 
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. 

Far dearer to me are yon hnmble broom bowers. 

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen : 
For there lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 

A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace, 
What are they ? The haunt of the tyrant and slave I 

* Bitterest. 2 Darkest. « Fate. Fern. 



27S BURNS. 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 



'TWAS NA HEE BONNIE BLUE E'E. 

TUNE — " LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME." 

'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin' ; 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown 1 glance o' kindness, 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest ! 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLAEE:. 

TUNE—" WHEEE'LL BONNIE ANN LIE." 

O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, 
"Nov quit for me the trembling spray ; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind? 
Oh. nocht but love and sorrow join'd 
Sic notes o' wae could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 
i Stolen. 



279 



HOW CKUEL ARE THE PARENTS, 

TUNE — "JOHN ANDEBSON, MY JO." 

How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize, 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice. 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has bat a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate, 

Becomes a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinions tries ; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet. 



mare: yonder pomp. 

TUNE — "DEIL TAK THE WABS." 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion. 

Round the wealthy, titled bride ; 
But when compar'd with real passion, 

Poor is all that princely pride. 
What are the showy treasures F 
What are the noisy pleasures ? 
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art : 
The polish'd jewel's blaze 
May draw the wond'ring gaze, 
And courtly grandeur bright, 
The fancy may delight, 
But never, never can come near the heart 
But did you see my dearest Chloris, 

In simplicity's arriy ; 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower i& 
Shrinking from the gaze of day ! 
O then, the heart alarming, 
And all resistless charming, 



280 ETTKNS. 

In Love's delightful fetters slie chains the willing soul f 

Ambition would disown 

The world's imperial crown ; 

Even Avarice would deny 

His worshipp'd deity. 
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. 



I SEE A FOE^I, I SEE A EACE. 

TUNE — " THIS IS >'0 MX AIN HOUSE " 

O this is no my ain lassie, 

Eair tho' the lassie be ; 
O weel hen I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e'e. 

I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tail* 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And aye it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her e'e 
O this is no, dec. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
But gleg 1 as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is no, &c. 



O BOZraiE "WAS YOX EG ST BEIEE. 

TIJNE — "I WISH MY LOVE WAS IK A MISE." 

O BONNIE was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; 
And bonnie she, ?nd all, how dear I 
It shaded frae the e'enur sun. 

1 Quick. • Evening. 



FORLORN. MY LOVE. 281 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 
How pure amang the leaves sae green — 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild and wimpling burn, 

Wi ; Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 
And I the world nor wish, nor scorn, 

Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



FORLORN, MY LOVE. 

TUNE — "LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT." 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 

CHORUS. 

O wert thou, love, but near me, 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me. 
And mingle sighs with mine, love 

Around me scowls a wintry sky, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert, &c. 

Cold, alter 'd friendship's cruel part, 

To poison fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

O wert, &c. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet I 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O wert, &c. 



282 burns. 

LAST MAY A BBAW WOOER 

TL\N"E — " THE LOTHIAN LASSIE." 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 

And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 
I said there was naething I hated like men, 

The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, 

The deuce gae wi'm to believe me. 

He spak o* the darts in my bonnie black een, 

And vow'd for my love he was dying ; 
I said he might die when he liked for Jean : 

The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, 

The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird, 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers: 

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd : 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 

The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear 
her, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnoek, 1 
h nd wha but my i±i\.Q fickle lover was there ! 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier d for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd her hearin, 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't 2 feet — 

But Heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, 

But Heavens ! how he fell a swearin. 

1 Daljjarnock is the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where are still 
a ruined cnurchand a burial-ground. — K. B. i Twisted. 



HEY FOR A LASS, ETC. 283 

He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife. 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : 
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow > 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



HEY FOU A LASS WI' A TOCHEB. 

TUNE — " BALINAMONA OBA." 

Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms : 
O s gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey, for a lass 

wi' a tocher, 
Then hey, for a lass wi* a tocher ; the nice yellow 

guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes. 
Then hey, &c. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest : 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye hae them — the mair they're carest. 
Then hey, &c. 



ALTHO' THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE. 

TUNE — "HERE S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA." 

CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, 
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
Thou art aa sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 
And soft as their parting tear — Jessy I 1 

1 Miss Jessy Lewars, 



284 Brsxs. 

Altho' tliou maun never be mine, 

Altlio' even Iiope is denied; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aiight in the world beside — Jessy! 
Here's a health, &c. 

I mourn thro' the gay, fraud y day, 
As, hopeless. I muse on thy charms: 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy ! 
Here's a health, &c. 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 

.But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy I 
Here's a health, &c. 



THE BIRKS 1 OF ABERFELDY. 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ve go, 
To the Birks of Aberfeldy ? 

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, 
Come let us spend the lightsome days 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep roaring fa's 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 

The hoary cliffs are crown 'd wi' flowers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The Birks of Aberfeldy. 

Let fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 

>Tt.ir Moneys, in Perthshire, The birch-trees were there very abundant, 




w fi /< 



THE BIIIKS OF AEKRFKLDY. 



THE YOUNG HiwillAND ROVER, ETC. 285 

In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
To the Birks of Aberfeldy P 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND EOYEE. 

TUNE — " MORAG." 

Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 

The snaws the mountains cover ; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland Bover 

Ear wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heaven be his warden ; 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! 

The trees now naked groaning, 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging ; 

The birdies dowie moaning, 
Shall a' be blithely singing, 
And every flower be springing. 

Sael'll rejoice the lee-lang day, 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey, 
And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 



STAY, MY CHAEMEE. 

TUNE — "AN GILLE DUBH CIAfi DHUBH." 

Stat, my charmer can you leave meP 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 

Well you know how much you grieve me ; 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted; 

TV> not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so I 



236 bubns. 

FULL WELL THOU KNOW 'ST. 1 

TUNE — " EOTHIEilTJECHE'S BANT." 

CHOSUS. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 

And smile as thou were wont to do ? 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
O, did not Love exclaim, " Forbear, 
H or use a faithful lover so ?" 
Fairest maid, &c. 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, O, let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear, 
No love but thine my heart shall know. 
Fairest maid, &c. 



STEATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 2 

Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling ! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

Western breezes softly blowing, 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engag'd, 

Wrongs injurious to redress, 
Honour's war we strongly wag'd, 

But the Heavens denied success. 

Bum's wheel has driven o'er us, 

Not a hope that dare attend ; 
The wide world is all before us — 

But a world without a friend ! 

• This is supposed to be the last song written by Burns. ** I tried ray 
hand ou ' Rothiemurche ' this morning. The measure is so difficult, that it 
18 impossible to infuse much genius into the lines." — R. B. 
* Lord Strathallau, bewailing his forlorn state after the defeat of Culloden, 



2S7 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOTTING.* 

TUtfE — "m'GEEGOB OF BUAEA's LAMENT." 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd deploring: 
" Farewell, hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow . 

" O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
On the hopeless future pondering; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distresshig, 
O, how gladly I'd resign thee. 
And to dark oblivion join thee !" 



MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN, 

TUNE — " DRrilllOir DUBH." 

Mfsing on the roaring ocean 
Which divides my love and me ; 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weal where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to nature's law, 

"Whispering spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that's far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubl'd, joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw ; 
Spirits kind, again attend me, 

Talk of him that's far awa ! 

y Miss Isabella M'Leod, who had lost a sister and a brother-in-tev 



288 BXTR^S. 



BLITIIE WAS SHE. 

JUNE — "ANDREW AND HIS CUTTY GUH.** 
CHORUS. 

Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 
Blithe was she but and ben : 

Blithe by the banks of Ern, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

By Ochtertyre grows the aik, 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw j 

But Phemie 1 was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, &c. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn j 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, &e. 

Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As onie lamb's upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blithe, &c. 

The Highland hills IVe wander'd wide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been; 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, &o. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.' 

JUNE — "NEIL GOW'S LAMENTATION FOE ABEBCAIBHY.* 

Wheee, braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Odiils rise, 
Ear in their shade my Peggy's charms 

Eirst blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who, by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

s Miss Eupheniia Murray. * Misa Margaret Chalmers, 



THE LAZY MIST, ETC. 2Sfe 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and h our, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey f d, 

When first I felt their pow'r ! 
The tyrant Death with grim control 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
.But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



THE LAZY MIST,, 

IEISH AIE — "COOLUN." 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill ; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, 
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year ! . 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 
And all the gay foppery of Summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 
How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues ; 

How long I have lived, but how much lived in vain 

How little of life's scanty span may remain : 

What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn ; 

What ties, cruel Fate in my bosom has torn. 

How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd! 

And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd ! 

This life's not worth having with all it can give, 

For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 



A UOSE-BUD BY MY EAELY WALK. 

TUNE — "the shepherd's wife.'* 

A rose-bud by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 1 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a* its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

l Bank. 
U 



29C BUEXS. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest. 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Arnang the fresh green leaves bedew' J < 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany 1 fair, 
On trembling string, or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.* 

TU^'E — " I2s*YES CAULL'S EEEL." 

CHOEES. 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 
Ye would na been sae shy ; 

For laik o' gear ye lightly 3 me, 
But trowth, I care na by. 

Yesteeen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure : 
i'e geek at me because I'm poor, 
"But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c, 

5 Miss Jeany Cruikshanks. 
Bum: ^.13 about seventeen years'old when he compose! tb?se ^h/roc* 
3 De-pise, 



I LOVE MY JEAN. 291 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows onie saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

Altho* a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear 
Be better than the kye. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddy's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price 
"Were ye as poor as I. 

O Tibbie, I hae, <&c. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would na gie her in her sark, 
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark ; 
Ye need na look sae high. 

O Tibbie, I hae, &c. 



I LOVE MY JEA]N T . 



£UNE— * k MISS ADMIEAL GOBDON S STBA.TJISPET. 

Of a' the airts 2 the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best ; 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And monie a hill between t 
By day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

t ffrltton "out of compliment to Mrs. Burns." * Points of thft eomwfv*-, 

u 2 



292 BURNS. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
Th-re's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

Bui minds me o' my Jean. 



O, WERE I OJS T PARNASSUS' HILL 

TUNE — "MY LOVE IS LOST TO MB." 

0, weee I on Parnassus' hill, 
Or had of Helicon my fill, 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear I love thee ! 
But TSTitli maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel ; 
On Corsincon 1 I'll glow'r and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay ! 
Eor a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I coud na sing, I cond na say, 

How much, how dear I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, 2 thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting looks, thy roguish een — 

By Heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame j 
And aye I muse and sing thy name, 

I only live to love thee. 
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 

Till then — and then I'd love thee. 

* A hill near Eilisi&nd, * Slandci. 



293 
THE BLISSFUL DAY. 1 

TUNE — "SEVENTH OF NOVEMBEE." 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes ;- 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
While joys above my mind can move,— 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

TUNE — "MISS FOEBES'S FAEEWELL TO BANFF ." 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, 
Kae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyi<y, 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, 

Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair ; 
Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers, 

Again ye '11 charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle. 

1 The Poet declared Robert Eiddeland his wife to be "one of the hap* 
oiest and worthiest married couples in the world." These stanzas were 
composed for the anniversary of tlieir wedding-day. 



294 Bubns. 



THE HAPPY TRIO." 

TUNE — "WILLIE BBEW'D A PECK </ MAUT." 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o* maut, 
And Bob and Allan came to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang 2 night. 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

CHORUS. 

We are na fou, we're no that fou, 
13ut just a drappie in our e'e ; 

The cock may craw, the day may claw. 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 

And monie a night we've merry been, 
And monie mae we hope to be ! 
We are na fou, &c. 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie : 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ! 
We are na fou, &c. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 

Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
He is the king amang us three ! 
We are na fou, &c. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 3 

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 

1 This air is Masterton's ; the song mine. The occasion of it was this, 
Mr. "William Nicol, of the High School of Edinburgh, during the Autumn 
vacation, being at Moflat, honest Allan, who was at that time on a visit to 
Dalswinton, and I, went to pay Nicol a visit. We had such a joyous meeting, 
that M». Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, that we should 
eelebrate th« business. — E. B. 2 Live-long. 

8 Jean Jeffrv, daughter of the minister of L-ochmabeiu 



JOHN ANDEIISOX, MY JO, ETC. 295 

*Twas not her golden ringlets bright, 

Her lips like roses wet wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white ; — 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd, 
She charm'd my soul 1 wist na how ; 

And aye the stound, 1 the deadly wound, 
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 

But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



JOHN anderson, my jo. 

John Andeeson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 2 
But now your brow is beld, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And monie a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



TAM GLEN. 

TUNE — "THE MUCKING O* GEOEDIE's BYEr. 

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len', 

To anger them a* is a pity ; 

But what will I do wi* Tarn Glen ? 

: Pang. 2 High and smooth. 



296 BT7BNS. 

n/m thinking, wi* sic a braw fallow, 
In poortith 1 I might mak a fen' ;* 

What care I in riches to wallow, 
If I maunna marry Tarn Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird o* Dumeller, 

" Guid-day to you, brute !" lie comes ben * 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller ; 
But when will he dance like Tarn Glen ? 

My minnie does constantly deave 3 me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tarn Glen f 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten : 

But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
O wha will I get but Tarn Glen ? 

Yestreen M the Valentines' dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten : 4 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written, Tarn Glen* 

The last Halloween I was waukin 5 
My droukit 6 sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin— 
And the very grey breeks o' Tarn Glen! 

Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry ; 

I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif you will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tarn Glen. 



GANE IS THE DAY. 

TTTNE— " G¥IDWiyE COUNT THE LA¥IN. M 

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faute 7 o' light, 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
And bluid-red wine's the risin sun. 

* Poverty. 2 Make a shift. 8 Deafen. 

5 Watching. 6 Wet. 7 Fault. 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE, ETC. 297 

CHOEUS. 

Then guidwife count the lawin, 1 the lawin, the lawin, 
Then guidwife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair. 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen**, 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
Then guidwife count, &c. 

My coggie is a haly pool, 2 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool j 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out. 
Then guidwife count, &c. 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WF AN AULD MAN 1 

TUNE — "WHAT CAN A LASSIE DO." 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' I 
Bad luck on the penny, &c. 

He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples 3 the weary day lang : 

He's doylt 4 and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows : 
O, dool 5 on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 

I'll cross him, and rack him, until I heart-break him, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 

1 Reckoning. a Holy well. * Coughs and bobbles. 

4 Stupid. * Sorrow. 



29» 



BURNS. 



O, FOit ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM! 

TUNE — " THE MOUDIETVORT." 
CHOEUS. 

An' O for ane-and-twenty, Tarn ! 

An' hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tarn I 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang, 

An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tani. 

They snool 1 me sair, and haud me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie, 2 Tarn ! 

But three short years will soon wheel roun', 
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tarn. 
And O for ane, &e. 

A gleib o' Ian', 3 a claut o' gear. 

Was left me by my auntie, Tarn ; 
At kith or kin I need na spier, 

An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tarn. 
An O for ane, &c. 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 4 
Tho* I mysel' hae plenty, Tarn ; 

But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof, s — 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tarn ! 
An' O for ane, &c. 



THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

TUNE — " THE LADS OF SALTCOATS.'* 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wistfully I look and languish 
In that bonnie face of thine ; 

And my heart it stounds 6 wi' anguish, 
Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beai>ty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee, &c. 



Oppress. 



8 Snivelling. 
s Hand, 



3 A portion of ground. 
e Throbs. 



£icokh**tt. 



299 
THE BANKS OF KITH. 

TUNE— "BOBIE DONNA G03ACH." 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand; 
But sweeter flows the With to me, 

Where Cummins ance had high command r 
When shall I see that honour'd land. 

That winding stream I loved so dear 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ; 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom S 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
May there my latest hour consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ! 



BESSY AND HEE SPINNIN WHEEL. 

O leeze 1 me on my spinnin wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 2 
And haps 3 me fiel 4 and warm at e'en J 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh 5 descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk, and meal— 
O leeze me on my spinnin wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit 6 cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes caller 7 rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel', 8 
Where blithe I turn my spinnin wheel. 

1 A phrase of endearment : "lam proud of thee." 

That abundantly clothes me. 3 Wraps. * Soft. * lov^ 

6 Thatched. 7 Sound. 8 Nook. 



300 BUENS. 

On lofty aiks l the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival itber's lays : 
The craik 2 amang the claver hay, 
The paitrick 3 whirrin o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin 4 round my shiel, 9 
Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flarin, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel ? 



COUjNTBY lassie. 

TUNE— " JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW." 

In simmer, when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 6 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says, " I'll be wed* come o't what will ;** 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, — 

" O' guid advisement comes nae ill : 

" It's ye hae wooers monie ane, 

And, lassie, ye're but 3 r oung, ye ken; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale 7 

A routhie but, a routine ben : 8 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 9 
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire." *° 

" For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, 11 

He has nae luve to spare for me ; 

1 Oaks. 2 The corn-rail. 8 Partridge. 4 Doijfin^ 

8 Shed. 6 Sunny nook of a wood. 7 Choose. 

8 A plentiful kitchen and parlour. 9 Sbeep-pen. 10 Adds fuel to fire. 

11 Crojja and cowa. 



FAIB ELIZA. 301 

But blitbe's the blink o' Hobie's e'c, 

And weei I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." 

u O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught ; 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
But aye fu' han't is fechtin 2 best, 

An hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill." 8 

" O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome 4 luve 

The gowd and siUer canna buy : 
We may be poor — Hobie and I, — 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne P" 



FAIE ELIZA. 

TONE— "THB BONNIE BEUCKET LASSIB." 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Hew 5 on thy despairing lover! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart P 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the; cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended? 

The offence is loving thee ; 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die P 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

» Fight. 'Fighting. * Ale. •fcUwUawws 

* Look tenderly. 



302 BUKNS. 

Not the bee upon tlie blossom. 

In the pride o' sunny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer mooti 5 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture* 

That thy presence gies to me. 



SHE'S FAIE AND FAUSE. 

She's fair and fanse that causes my smart, 

I lo'ed her meikle and lang : 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my hearty 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear, 1 
And I hae tint 2 my dearest dear, 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman lore, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 3 'tis tho' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O Woman lovely, Woman fair ! 
An Angel form's fa'n to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to 've gien thee mair, 

I mean an Angel mind. 



THE POSIE. 

lttve will venture in, where it daur na weei be seen* 
J luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood 
green, — 
And a' to pu' a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o* the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without 
peer ; — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May 

A blockhead came with plenty of wealth. * Lost. 

3 No wonder. 



THE BANKS O 9 BOON. 30$ 

I'll pu ibp budding rose, when Pkcebus peeps in view, 
For it's like a bauiny kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou : 
The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue, 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is purr, and the lily it is fair, 
Aud in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there ; 
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air, 
And a* to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, 
k3ut the songster's nesfc within the bush I winna tak away ;— 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, 
And the diamond drops o' dew shall be her een sae clear? 
The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear, — 
And a' to be a Posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the Posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, 
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above, 
That to my latest draught o' life, the band shall ne'er 
remuve, — 
And this will be a Posie to my ain dear May. 



THE BA]N T JK:S 0' DOOK 1 

TV:JE-"THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT." 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair I 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
An' I sae weaiy, fu' o' care I 

1 We have this song in an earlier and simpler form, as the writer ?"int it ta 
Mr. Bsllantine : Mr. Cunningham, on the authority of an Ayrshire legend, 
discovers the heroine of the song in Miss Kennedy, of Dalgarrock, who 
broke her heart for one M'Dougall, of Logan : 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye blume sae fair ! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care. 

Thou' 11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 

That sings upou the bough ; 
Thou minds me o* the happy days, 

When my fause luve was true. 

Thou' 11 break my heart, thou bonnie bir 

That sings beside thy mate; 
For sae I c at, and sae I sang, 

And a 1st na o' my fate. 



304 BUKNS. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, 
Tliat wantons thro' the flowering then* . 

Thou minds me o' departed joys, 
Departed — never to return. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine • 
And ilka bird sang o' its hive, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Eu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 

And my fause luver stole my rose, 
But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



GLOOMY DECEMBER 

TUNE — " WAffDEBING WILLIE." 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy Decemk } 

Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hcur; 
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever ! 

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has taken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and my comfort is gone 5 



Aft hae I rev'd by bonnie Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine, 

And ilka bird sang o' its love, 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 
Frae oft' its thorny tree ; 

A id my fause luver staw the rose, 
.But left the thoru wi' me. 

* On parting from Clarindx. 



BEHOLD THE HOUR, ETC. 306 

Stiii as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 

For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mair. 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

TUNE—" OBAN-GAOIL." 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 

Thou go'st, thou darling of my heart: 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must part! 
I'll often greet this surging swell ; 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." 
Along the solitary shore, 

While flitting sea-fowls round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
"Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll say, 

" Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 

O, tell me, does she muse on me P" 






WILLIE'S WIFE. 1 

TUNE — "TIBBIE FOWLEB IN THE GLEN." 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie, 
Willie was a wabster 2 guid, 

Cou'd stown a due wi' onie bodie ; 
He had a wife was dour and din, 3 

Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mitlier# 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 

She has an e'e, she has but ane, 

The cat has twa the very colour ; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave 4 a miller ; 
A whiskin beard about her mou, 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither 5 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gie a button for her. 

* Willie's wife is said to have been the wife of a farmer near EllieJan* 
\ Weaver. s Sullen and sallow. * Deafen 



S06 BUEXS. 

She's bow-hough'd, 1 she's hein-shinn'd, 
Ae limpin leg, a hand-breed 2 shorter ; 

She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fair in ilka quarter : 

She has a hump upon her breast, 
The twin o' that upon her shouther ; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 

Auld baudrons 3 by the ingle sits, 
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 4 

She dights 5 her grunzie 6 wi' a hushion ; 7 

Her walie nieves 8 like midden-creels, 9 
Her face wad fyle 10 the Logan-water ; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 



AFTON WATEK" 

Plow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Plow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Plow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Par mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me* 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave. 

* Out-kneed. * Hand's-breadth. s Cat. * Neafc. 

5 Wipes. 6 Mouth. 7 Cushion. 8 Big fists. 

• Dung-basket*. 10 Soil. n Afton, a stream in Ayrshire 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE, ETC. 307 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green brace, 
Plow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE, 

TUXE — "MY IIOTHEB'3 ATE GLOWBING O'EE JIB.'* 

Louis, what reek I by thee, 
Or Geordie on his ocean? 

Py vor, beggar loons to me, 
I reign in Jeanie's 1 bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law. 
And in her breast enthrone me : 

Kings and nations, swith awa! 2 
Heif randies, 3 I disown ye ! 



BONNIE BELL. 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly Winter grimly SJes : 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and JSTature their changes tell ; 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bonnie Bell. 

Urs. Burns. s Get away. s Sturdy beg garc. 



808 BTTBWS. 



FOE THE SAKE OE SOMEBODY. 

TT7XE — "THE HIGHLAND WATCH'S PAEEWELL.** 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 

My heart is sair for somebody; 
I could wake a winter night, 
Eor the sake o' somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
Eor the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous {o\e f 

O sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Erae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody I 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



O MAY, THY MORN. 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 
As the mirk night o' December 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
And private was the chamber : 

And dear was she I dare na name, 
But I will aye remember. 
And dear, &c. 

And here's to them that, like ours el, 
Can push about the jorum ; 

And here's to them that wish us weel ;■ 
May a' that's guid watch o'er them ; 

And here's to them we dare na tell, 
The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to, &c. 



309 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see 5 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blins her e'e : 
Drumossie Moor, Drumossie day, 1 

A waefu' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see $ 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For monie a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 



A EED, EED EOSE. 

TUNE — "WISHAW'S FAVOUBITB." 

O, my luve's like a red, red rose, 
That's new]y sprung in June : 

O, my luve's like the melodie 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun t 

I will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel awhile ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

* ThS battle cS Culloden, on Drumossie Moor. 



2)0 



srE^s. 



O, WAT YE WHA'S Ux YOIS* TOWNP 

TVirE — "THE BOXZS'IE LASS IX TOK TO\TX." 

O, wat ye wha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest dame's 1 in yon town, 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 

* 
jS"ow haply down yon gay green shaw, 

She zanders by yon spreading tree ; 
How blest, ye flow'rs that round her blaWj 

Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

How blest, ye birds that round her sin^r. 
And welcome in the blooming year ; 

And doubly welcome be the sprmg, 
The season to my Lucy dear ! 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town, 
And on yon boimie braes of Ayr ; 

But my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy : 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air : 

And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 



O, sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon j 

A fairer than's in yon town, 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear ; 

I careless quit aught else below, 
But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. 

• Mrs. Oswald, of Auchincruive, whose beauty and accomplishment* 
«5 dazzled Burns, that he resolved to " say nothing at all" about be? A "is 
despair of saying anything adequate." 



A VISION. 311 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 

And she — as fairest is her form, — 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 1 



A VISION. 

TUNE — " CUMNOCK PSALMS." 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 8 

Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air. 

Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care j 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shot alang the sky ; 

The fox was howling on the hill, 
And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its haz'lly path, 

Was rushing by the ruin'd wa', 
Hasting to join the sweeping iNT ith, 

Whase distant roarings swell and fa. 

The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din ; 

Athort the lift they start and shift, 
Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see 

A stern and stalwart gliaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane, 

His darin look had daunted me ; 
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain 

The sacred posy — Libertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might rouse the slumbering dead to hear; 

But oh, it was a tale of woe, 
A3 ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy his former day, 
He weeping wail'd his latter times ; 

But what he said it was nae play ; 
I winna venture 't in my rhymes. 

* These lines are in the form of an address from the husband to hia wife. 

• The rower belonged to the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, near Dumfries, fe 
most poetical scene, and often visited by Burns. 



312 BTTBNS. 

O WERT THOU EN" THE CAULD BLAST. 

TTJITE — "THE LASS OF LIYIXGSTOXE." 

!>, weet thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea ; 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 1 

I'd shelter thee. I'd shelter thee. 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Ot earth and air, of earth and air 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The only jewel in my crown, 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 2 

TCT2TB — "THE DEUKS DANG O'EE MY DADDY." 

Fae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 

CHOEUS. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland lassie, Q. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yoiz palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, O. 
"Within the glen. &c. 

1 Quarter of the sky. 
* Mary Campbell, my Highland lassie, was a warm-nearted charming 
foung creature as ever blessed a man with generous love. — B. B. 



JOCKEY S TA'EN THE PASTING KISS. 313 

But fickle fortune frowns on me , 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while my crimson currel/ofc *iow 
I'll love my Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 
Within the glen, &c. 

For her I'll dare the billow's roar, 
For her I'll dare the distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 
Within thy glen, &c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine my Highland lassie, O. 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O ! 
To other lands I now must go, 
To sing my Highland lassie, O ! 



JOCKEY'S TA'EST THE PAKTIJSTG KISS* 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 
O'er the mountains he is gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss, 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 
Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 

Sound and safely may he sleep, 
Sweetly blithe his waukeniug be I 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



SH 



bubss. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS.* 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind* 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly heavenly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art ; 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 
The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway, 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look that rage disarms,— 
These are all immortal charms. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

CHOKTTS. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

The birds sit cluttering 2 in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but sparely ; 

And lang's the night frae e'en to morn. 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
Up in the morning, &c. 



THO' CRUEL FATE. 

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part, 
As far's the pole and line ; 

Her dear idea round my heart 
Should tenderly entwine. 

1 P«"C27 was Miss Margaret Chalmers. 



* Shfrraiw 



I DREAIE'd I LAY, ETC. 315 

Tho' mountains frown and deserts howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

J. still would love my Jean. 



X DREA^PP I LAY WHEKE FLOWERS WERE SPRINGING; 

I dkeam'd I lay where flowers were springing 

Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing, 

By a falling, crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring : 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were warring, 

O'er the SAvelling, drumlie 2 wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasures I enjoy 'd ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests, storming, 

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. 
Tho' fickle fortune Las deceived me. 

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill 
Of monie a joy and hope bereav'd me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



BONNIE ANN. 3 

Ye gallants bright, I rede 4 you right. 

Beware o' bonnie Ann : 
Her comely face sae fu' o 5 grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae j imply 5 lac'd her genty 6 waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van ; 
In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands, 

But love enslaves the man : 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a'. 

Beware o' bonnie Ann. 

* Written in the poet's eighteenth year. * Muddy-. 

3 Ann Masterton, the daughter of a friend of Burns. 

* Counsel. 5 Slenderly. 6 Elegant. 



316 BT7BNS. 



MY BONNIE MAEY. 

Go fetch to me a pint o* wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie ; l 
That I may drink, before 1 go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' lond the wind blaws frae the ferry % 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore 

"Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar, — 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary u 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 2 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here • 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, — 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; 

Farewell to the straths and green valleys below j 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, — 
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

1 Mea?"-e. 
* The first half stanza of this song to old, the rest is mine. — B. }J. 



317 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

TT7NE — "NEIL GOW'S LAMENT." 

There's a youth in this city, it were a great pity, 
That he from our lasses should wander awa ; 

For he's bonnie and Draw, weel favour'd witha', 
And his hair has a natural buckle and a\ 

His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue ; 
His fecket 1 is white as the new-driven snaw ; 

His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, 

And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 
His coat is the hut, &c. 

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin ; 

Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted andbrawj 
But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, 

The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. 
There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a haen him, 

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha' ; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, 

— But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'. 



THE EANTIN DOG- THE DADDIE O'T.* 

TUNE — "EAST NOOK O' FIFE." 

O wha my babie-clouts will bv.y ? 
Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me whare I he ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will own he did the faut ? 
Wha will buy my groanin maut P 
Wha will tell me how to ca't ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

When I mount the ere epie- chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Bob, I seek nae mair, 
The rantin dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will crack to me my lane P 
Wha will mak me fidgin fain ? 3 
WTia will kiss me o'er again ? 
The rantin dog the daddie o't, 

1 An under waistcoat haYing sleeves. 
• I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a youDg girl, ft 
very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at the time under a cloud.— 
R. B. The "young girl" was Elizabeth Paton. 

3 Tickled with pleasure. 



■318 BUKSS. 



I DO CONFESS THOU AET SAE FAIB. 

I bo confess thou art sae fair, 
I wad been o'er the lugs 1 in hive ; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer, 

That lips could speak, thy heart could nmve 

1 do confess thee sweet, but find 

Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 

Thy fav; /urs are the silly wind 
That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

See yonder rose-bud rich in dew, 
Amang its native briers sae coy, 

How soon it tines its scent and hue, 
When pu'd and worn a common toy ! 

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide ; 

Though thou may gaily bloom awhile, 
Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside, 

Like ony common weed and vile. 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 

Yox wild mossy mountains, sae lofty and wide, 
That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to 

feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock, as he pipes on his reed* 
Where the grouse, &c. 

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores 
To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely, sequester'd, clear stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang the wild mountains shall still be my path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green narrow strath $ 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 
While o'er us, unheeded, fly the swift hours o* love. 

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair ; 
C nice education but sma' is her share ; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 
But I lo'e the dear lassie, because she lo'es me. 

1 Ear*. 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOE, ETC. 319 

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs ? 
And when wit and refinement hae polish' d her darts, 
They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e. 
Has lustre out-shining the diamond to me ; 
And the heart beating love, as I'm elasp'd in 3ier arms,— 
O, these are my lassie's all- conquering charms ! 



WEA IS THAT AT MY BOWEK, DOOEP 

Wha is that at my bower door ? 

O wha is it but Findlay ; 
Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here ! 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
"What mak ye sae like a thief ? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay ; 
JBefore the morn ye '11 work mischief; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in ; 

Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye'll keep me waukin' wi' your din ; 

Indeed will I, quo Findlay. 
.*n my bower if ye should stay j 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
1 fear ye'll bide till break o' day; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain ; 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay ; 
I dread ye'll learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour j 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



FAEEWELL TO NANCY. 



Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! 

Ae fareweei, alas, for ever ! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee * 

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 

Supposed to have been addressed *o Clarinda. 



320 BURNS. 

Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy ; 
But to see her, was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted ! 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure. 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fare weel, alas, for ever ! 
Deep in heart- wrung tears I'll pledge the? 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 



THE BONNIE BLINK O' MARY'S E'E. 

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green, 

An' scattered cowslips sweetly spring ; 
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream 

The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's, 

There wi' my Mary let me flee, 
There catch her ilka glance o' love, 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e ! 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's wealthy 

Is often laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' my ain, — 

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair ! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks 

Wi' her the lassie dear to me, 
And catch her ilka ghnce o' love. 

The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e! 



321 



OUT OVEE THE FOETH. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

But what is the north and its Highlands to me * 

The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be $ 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 



THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAE AWA 

TUNE—" OWRE THE HILLS AND EAB AWA." 

O how can I be blithe and glad, 
Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 

It's no the frosty winter wind, 

It's no the driving drift and snaw; 

But ay the tear comes in my e'e, 
To think on him that's far awa. 

My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown'd me a* : 

But I hae ane will take my part, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

A pair o' gloves he gae to me, 

And silken snoods 1 he gae me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

The weary winter soon will pass, 

And spring will deed 2 the birken-sh&w j 

And my sweet babie will be born, 
And he'll come hame that's far aw^ 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA, 

TUNE — "BANKS OP BANNA." 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 
A place where body saw na* ; 

Yestreen lay on this breast o* mine 
The gowden locks of Anna. 

Kihan«]n for binding the hair. **Clot" r« 

Y 



32& BrBNS. 

The hungry Jew in wilderness, 
Rejoicing o'er his manna. 

Was naething to my hinny bliss 
Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs. tak the east and west* 

Erae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An Empress, or Sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms, 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
Hk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

"When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' 5 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 



BANKS OF DEVON. 1 

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming 
fair ! 

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon, 
"Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

0, spare the clear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn I 

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England triumphant display her proud rose ; 

A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 

f Composed on Charlotte, a sister of the poet's friend Gvin Hamilton, 



323 

ADOWN WINDING NITH. 

TUNE — "THB MUCKIN O' GEOBDIE'S BTBE." 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring $ 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis 1 to mnse and to sing. 

CHORUS. 

Awa wi* your belles and your beauties, 
They never wi' her can compare j 

Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 

So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 

For she is simplicity's child. 
Awa, &c. 

The rose-bud's the blush o* my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast. 
Awa, &c. 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour. 

They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, 

Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 
Awa, &c. 

Her voice is the song of the morning 

That wakes through the green-spreading grove, 

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 
Awa, &c. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 
The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 

While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 
Awa, &c. 

Miss Phillis M'Murdo. 

y2 



324 BUENS. 

STREAMS THAT GLIDE. 1 

TUNE — " MOSAG." 

Streams that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ! 
Glowing here on golden sands, 
There commix'd with foulest stains 
Erom tyranny's empurpled bands : 
These, their richly -gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves : 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray 
Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way, 
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil: 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
. I leave the tyrant and the slave ; 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here without control, 
Nature reigns and rules the whole ; 
In that sober pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul, 
She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
By bonnie Castle Gordon. 



THE DEIL'S AWA WI» THE EXCISEMAN. 8 

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman; 

And ilka wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun, 
We wish you luck o' your prize, man. 

" We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink, 
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; 

And monie thanks to the muckle black Deil 
That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. 

1 A remembrance of Bums' visit to Gordon Castle, 1787. 
9 At a meeting of his brother Excisemen in Dumfries, Burns, being called 
npon for a song, handed tliese ve-«»es to the president, written on the bao 
•f* letter. — Cromek. 



BLITHEHAE I BEEN ON YoN HILL, ETC. 325 

*' There s threesome reels, and foursome reels 
There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 

But the ae best dance e'er cam to our Ian', 
Was — The Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman. 
We'll mak our maut," &c. 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL. 

TUNE — " LIGGERAM COSH." 

Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 
Now nae langer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me ? 
Leslie is sae fair and coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task, 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I do nocht but glowr* 

Sighing, dumb, despairing! 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling ; 
Underneath the grass-green sod 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIIL 

TUNE—" HUGHIE GRAHAM." 

O weee my love yon lilac fair, 

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring 5 

And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing : 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youth fu' May its bloom renew'd 

O gin my love were yon red rose 
That grows upon the castle wa', 

And I mysel' a drap o' dew, 
Into her bonnie breast to fa' ! 



326 BUBNS. 

Oh! there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a the night ; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
Till ney'd awa' by Phoebus' light. 1 



GOME, LET ME TAKE THEE. 

TUNE — " CAULD KAIL." 

Come, let me take thee to ray breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder : 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The world's wealth and grandeur: 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her? 
I ask for dearest life alone 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



WHEKE ARE THE JOYS. 

TUNE— "SAW YE MY PATHEB?" 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning, 
That danc'd to the lark's early song ? 

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, 
At evening the wild woods among ? 

No more a-winding the course of yon river, 
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair : 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 
But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, 

And grim, surly winter is near ? 
No, no ! the bees humming round the gay roses, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

The third and fourth verses are copied from Witherspoon's "Collection o 
Scotch Songs." 



O SAW YE MY DEAR, ETC. 327 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet long, long too well have I known : 

All that has caus'd this wreck in my bosom, 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Not hope dare a comfort bestow : 
Come, then, en amour 'd and fond of my anguish 

Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



O SAW YE MY DEAR. 

TUNE— " WHEN SHE CAM BEN SHE BOBBIT." 

O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Thou'st broken the heart o' thy Willy. 



THOU HAST LEFT ME EYEE, JAMIE.' 

TUNE — "FEE HIM, FATHER." 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever ; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever ; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye — 

I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
I'll see thee never ! 

1 This song was written, as the author tells us, " by the lee-side of a ben* 
of punch," which had al^ndy conquered every other guest. 



328 BUEN8. 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken ; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo, 

While my heart is breaking 5 
Soon my weary een I'll close — ■ 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken ! 



MY CHLOEIS. 

TTnrE— " MY LODGING IS ON THE COLD GEOinTD."* 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 1 

The primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the floorers, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds, as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu* string 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe in the bn-ken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 
Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in Ihe flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo; 
The courtier tells a finer tale \ — 

But is his heart a3 true ? 

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck 
That spotless breast of thine : 

The courtiers' gems may witness love- 
But 'tis na love like mine. 

l On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic name 01 
the lovely goddess of my inspiration) she suggested an idea, which I, on xuy 
return from the visit, wrought into the following song.— To Mr. Thomson, 
Nov. 1791. 



329 
CHARMING MONTH OF MAY.* 

TUNE — "DAINTY DAVIE." 

It was the cli arming month of May, 
"When all the flowers were fresh and gay, 
One morning, by the break of day, 
The youthful, charming Chloe ; 

From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feathered people you might see 
Perch' d all around on every tree, 
In notes of sweetest melody 
They hail the charming Chloe : 

Till, painting gay the eastern skies* 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 
Of youthful, charming Chloe, 
Lovely was she, &c. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'EE COMPLAIN, 

TUNE — "DUNCAN GRAY." 

Let not woman e'er complain. 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain, 

Fickle man is apt to rove : 

Look abroad through Nature's range. 
Nature's mighty law is change ; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster prove ? 

1 " Cut down," to adopt the phrase of Burns, from a song in i'.iuv.rny's 
^Tea-Table Miscellany." 



830 



BURNS, 

Mark the winds, and mark the skies » 
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 

Sun and moon but set to rise ; 
Round and round the seasons go. 

Why then ask of silly man, 
To oppose great Nature's plan P 
We'll be constant while we can — 
You can be no more, you know. 



O PHILLY.* 

TUNE— "THE SOW'S TAIL." 

HE. 

O Philly, happy be that day 
When, roving through the gather'd hay, 
My youth fu' heart was stown away, 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 

SHE. 

O Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where first I own'd my maiden love, 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 

HE. 

As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 

SHE. 

As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows, 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 

The milder sun and bluer sky, 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye, 
As is a sight o' Philly. 

1 These yerseswere composed in a morning walk, "through * keen« 
Dlowing frost." 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 331 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that thro' the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet, 
When evening shades in silence meet, 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy, 

HE. 

Let fortune's wheel at random rin, 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win i 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie! 
I care na wealth a single flie ; 
The lad I love's the lad for me, 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 



JOHN BAEXEYCOEN. 

A BALLAD. 

There were three Kings into the east, 
Three Kings both great and high ; 

An' they hae sworn a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him down. 

Put clods upon his head ; 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 



332 



BURNS. 



The sultry suns of Summer came, 
And lie grew thick and strong, 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober Autumn enter'd mild, 
When he grew wan and pale ; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to fail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 

And cudgel'd him full sore ; 
They hung him up before the storm, 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe ; 
And still, as signs of life appear'd, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all, 

For he crush'd him 'tween two stones. 

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage risej 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME TTTT7S, ETC. 333 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland! 



CAJSTST THOU LEAYE ME THUS. 

TUNE — "ROT'S WltfB." 

CHORUS. 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy P 
Well thou know'st my aching heart, — 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity P 

Is this thy pJighted, fond regard, 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 

Is this thy faithful swain's reward— 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy? 
Canst thou, &c. 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 

Thou may'st find those will love thee dear 
But not a love like mine, my Katy. 
Canst thou, &c. 



ON CHLOEIS BEING ILL 

TUNE— "AY WAUKIN O." 

CHORUS. 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish, 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish t 
Long, <&c. 



834 



BUENS. 

Every hope is fled, 
Every fear is terror 5 

Slumber even I dread, 
Every dream is horror. 
Long, &c. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine ! 

Oh ! in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 

But my Chioris spare me I 
Long, &c. 



THE EIGS O' BAELEY. 

JUNE— "COBN EIGS ABE BONNIE." 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely; 
My blessing on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She aye shall bless that happy night 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear; 

I hae been merry drinkin ; 
I bae been joyfu' gath'rin gear ; 

1 kae been happy thinking : 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA, ETC. 835 

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a', 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

CHOEUS. 

Corn rigs, an* barley rigs, 

An' corn rigs are bonnie : 
I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 

Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA, i 

TUNE — " GILDEBOY." 

Feom thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar ; 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my Love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



MY NANNIE, O. 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill ? 

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ! 
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hill to Nannie, O. 

* The editors of Burns have discovered two Elizas — and perhaps % future 
Inquirer mas enlarge the number. 



83ft BURNS. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an* youjtjr j 
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, : 

May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonnie, O: 

The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, O; 

Eut what care I how few they be ? 
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a', my Nannie, O. 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weal, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak wbat Heaven will sen' me O ; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 

But live, an* love my Nannie, O. 



GEEEN GKOW THE EASHES. 1 

A FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS. 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 

Green grow the rashes, O ; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Were spent amang the lasses, O ! 

* On this song Burn9 indites the following note:— "I do not see that 
the turn of mind and pursuits of such a one as the abcve » erses describe 
—one who spends the hours and thoughts which the vocations of the day 
can spare— with Ossian, Shalcspeare, Thomson, Sheustcne, Sterne, &c, are 
in the least more inimical to the sacred interests of ;.>iety and virtue, than the, 
even lawful, 'ius'ling and straining alter the world's riches and honours " 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 337 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han\ 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 
What signifies the life o' man, 

An' 'twere na for the lasses, ()• 
Green grow, &c. 

The warly race may riches chase, 

An* riches still may fly them, O ; 
An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 

Their heart's can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Green grow, &c. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, O ; 
An' warly cares, an' warly men, 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 
Green grow, &o. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O : 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
Green grow, <fcc. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 

Her noblest work she classes, O ; 
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 

An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 



NOW WESTLIN WINDS. 

TUNE— "I HAD A HOESE, I HAD NAE MAIB." 

.Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er, the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at nigl 

To muse upon my charmer. 
z 



338 BUBNS, 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells g 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Thro* lofty groves the cushat roves, 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender; 
Some social join, and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander ; 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the niurd'ring cry, 

The flutt'ring gory pinion ! 

But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come, let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And ev'ry happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be, as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



THE BIG-BELLIED BOTTLE. 

/Tin— " PEEP ABE, MY TEAS BBETHEEIT, TO THE TAVEBN LET*! TOf. 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 

No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow j 
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low ; 



the author's paeewell. 339 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the equire on his brother — his horse 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse j 
But see you the Crown how it waves in the air ? 
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That the big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter in form' d me that all was to wreck ; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

" Life's cares they are comforts," 1 a maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black 

gown ; 
And, faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair, 
Tor a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of care. 

A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May ev'ry true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big -bellied bottle when harass 'd with care. 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY." 

TUNE — " BOSLIN CASTLE." 

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

1 Young's "Night Thoughts." 
* Burns had been visiting the minister of Loudon, and his homeward patfe 
led him over solitary moors in a dark aDd windy evening of autumn. Fr* 
some days, in his own words, he had been " skulking from covert to cover! 
under all the terrors of a jail ;" and expecting almost immediately to embark 
for Jamaica, he designed these lines as a "farewell dirge to his native 
land." 

z2 



340 BCESS. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn : 
Across her placid,, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound. 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! Farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those — 
The bursting tears my heart declare ; 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr! 



THE FAREWELL. 

fO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAilEs's LODGE, TAEB0LTON, 

TUyE— "GVID XIGHT, i2fD JOT BE Wf YOU ±' I" 

Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favoured, ye enlighten 'd few, 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba\ 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa\ 

Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night; 

Oft, honour'd with supreme commancL 
Presided o'er the sons oi ii^ht: 



AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE DOAT. 341 

And by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 

Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 
Those happy scenes when far awa' ! 

May freedom, harmony, and lore, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath the Omniscient eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may keep th' unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till Order bright completely shme, 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 

And You, 1 farewell ! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your honour'd, noble name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round — I ask it with a tear, 

To him, the Bard that's far awa'. 



AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE 2 DOAT. 

TUNE — " JOCKEY'S GEEY BEEEKS." 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CHORUS. 3 

And maun I still on Menie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e P 

For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 

In vain to me the vi'lets spring; 
In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 

The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 
And maun I still, &c. 

1 Sir John Whiteford, the Grand Master. 
* Menie is the common abbreviation of Marianne. — H. B. 
This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, ■ 
particulai friend of the author. — U. &• 



342 BUENS. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
"WT joy the tentie seedsman stalks, 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 
And maun I still, &c. 

The wanton coot 1 the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And everything is blest but I. 
And maun I still, &c. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faul&ng slap, 2 
And owre the moorland whistles shrill ; 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 
And maun I still, &c. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side. 

And mounts and sings on flittering 3 wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 
And maun I still, &c. 

Come "Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
When Nature all is sad like me ! 

And maun I still on Menie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e P 

For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 4 

TUNE — ' ' KATH ABINE O GIE ." 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumhe!* 

1 Water-fowl. * Shuts the gate of the fold. s Trembling. 
4 The foregoing song pleases myself ; I think it is in my happiest manner. 
You will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the song ia 
one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days ; and I own that J 
should be much nattered to see the verses set to an air which would ensure 
celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still growing prejudice of my heart that 
throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition. — E. B. 

6 Muddy. 



AULD IANa SYNE. 343 

There simmer first unfold her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace. 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance. 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust, 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



AULD LJlNG SYjSTE. 1 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And days o' lang syne ? 

CHORUS, 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

* An old song into which Burns threw dome of his own fc^ 



314 BURNS. 

"We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the go wans fine ; 
But we've wandered niony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 
From mornin sun till dine ; 

But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin auld lang syne* 
For auld, &c. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 1 

And gie 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, 2 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

And surely yell be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, See. 3 



BANJTOCKBUEK 4 

BOBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

TUNE — "HEY TUTTIE, TAITIE." 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, ^ham Bruce has aften led; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

1 Friend. 2 Draught. 

' Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your ole schoolfellow 
and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the v=orld ! They 
spoil these " social offsprings of the heart." Two veterans of the "men of 
the world" would have met with little more heart-working-* than two old 
hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, "Auld lang 
syne," exceedingly expressive ? There is an old song and tune which has 
often thrilled through my soul ; I shall give you the verses in the other 
sheet. Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who com- 
posed this glorious fragment ! — To Mrs. Dun/op, Dec. 17, 17SS ; and to Mr. 
Thomson, September, 17°3 : — The air is but mediocre; but the following song, 
the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even 
in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to 
recommend any air. 

* A friendhad got a " grey Highland shelty" for Burns, and he made a little 
excursion on it into Galloway. He was particularly struck with the ?cenery 
round Kenmure. From mat pl*ce he and his companion took the Moor- 
road to Gatehouse, the dreary country being Lighted up 1 y frequent gleams 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 345 

Now's the day, and now's the hour; . 
See the front o' battle lour : 
See approach proud Edward's pow'r — 
Edward ! chains and slaverie I 

Wha will be a traitor knave P 
Wha can fill a coward's grave P 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee P 

Wha for Scotland's King and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa* ? 
Caledonian ! on wi' me I 

By Oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains, 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall — they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Forward ! let us do, or die ! l 



THE GALLANT WEAVEE. 

TUNE — "THE AULD WIFE ATONT THE FIEE." 

Where Cart rins rowin 2 to the sea, 
By monie a flow'r and spreading tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
He is a gallant weaver. 



of a thunderstorm, which soon poured down a flood of rain. Burns spok^ 
not a word. " What do you think he was about ?" asked his fellow, 
traveller, relating the adventure. " He was charging the English army alone 
with Bruce at Bannockburn. He was engaged in the same manner on oui' 
ride home from St. Mary's Isle. I did not disturb him. Next day he pro- 
duced the following address of Bruce to his troops." — Mr. Syme, quoted by 
Currie, i. 211. 

1 Independent of my enthusiasm as a Scotchman, I have rarely met with 
anything in history which interests my feelings as a man equal with the story 
of Bannockburn. On the one hand, a cruel but able usurper leading on the 
finest army in Europe to extinguish the last spark of freedom among a 
greatly daring and greatly-injured people ; on the other hand, the desperate 
relies of a gallant nation, devoting themselves to rescue their bleeding 
country, or to j ^rish with her.— Burns to Earl ofJBuchan, Jan. 12, 1794. 

54 Koilmg. 



346 BUENS. 

Oh, I had wooers aught or nine, 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine, 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band, 1 
To gie the lad that has the land, 
But to my heart I'll add my hand, 
And gie it to the weaver. 

• While birds rejoice in leafy bowers : 
While bees rejoice in opening flowers ; 
While corn grows green in simmer showers, 
I'll love my gallant weaver. 



SONG-. 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 
And waste my soul with care j 

But ah ! how bootless to admire, 
When fated to despair ! 

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair, 
To hope may be forgiven ; 

For, sure, 'twere impious to despair 
So much in sight of heaven. 



FOE A* THAT AND A* THAT* 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' thatP 
The coward- slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that I 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea stamp ; 
The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 
Wear hodden -grey, 2 and a' that ; 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man, for a' that. 

1 Marriage bond. g Coarse woollen cloth. 



TO ME. CUNNINGHAM. 347 

For a* that, and a* that, 

Their tinsel show, and a* that : 

The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
Is Xing o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, 1 ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 
He's but a coof 2 for a 5 that : 
For a' that, aud a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man, of independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a* that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 
Guid faith, he mauna fa' 3 that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a* that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that ; 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth* 
May bear the gree, 4 and a* that • 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's coming yet, for a' that ; 

That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



TO ME. CUNJSTUSTGHAM. 

TTJITE — "THE HOPELES3 LOVEE." 

"Now spring has clad the groves in green, 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; 
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen 

Kejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ! 

l Conceited fellow. 2 Blockhead. • Try. 

* May be conquerors. 



318 BURNS. 

The trout within yon wimpling bur£ 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was once that careless streaiS 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch 'd my fountain dry. 

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's night, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows, 
Was mine : till love has o'er me past, 

And blighted a' my bloom, 
And now beneath the withering blast, 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snowg, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature ieagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " Hope nae mair I" 

What tongue his woes can tell ? 
Within whose bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



CLAKINDA. 

Clartnda, mistress of my soul, 
The measur'd time is run! 

The wretch beneath the dreary pole 
So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 
Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 

Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 
The sun of all his joy P 



WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVEF ETC. 34»9 

We part — but by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes! 
No other li^ht shall guide my steps, 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 

Has blest my glorious day ; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray ? 



WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER. 

TUNE— "THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT." 

Why, why tell thy lover, 

Bliss he never must enjoy P 
Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie P 

O why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers, 
Chloris, Chloris, all the theme I 

Why, why wouldst thou, cruel, 
Waxe thy lover from his dream P 



CALEDONIA. 

TUNE — "THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT." 

There was once a day, but old Time then was young, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
From some of your northern deities sprung : 

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign, 

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good, 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew; 
Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, 

" Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue V 
With tillage, or pasture, at times she would sport, 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn ; 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, 

Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn. 



350 BURNS. 

Long quiet she reign'd ; till thitherward steero 

A night of bold eagles from Adria's 1 strand ; 
[Repeated, successive, for many long years, 

They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land: 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside ; 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly — 

The daring invaders they fled or they, died. 

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas and the dread of the shore; 
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth 

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore : 2 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail' d, 

~No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. 8 

The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, 

"With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life : 
The Anglian Hon, the terror of Prance, 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, 

Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose, 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base ; 
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; 

Then, ergo, she'll match them, and match them always. 4 

1 The Romans. s The Saxons and Danes. 

* Two famous battles in which the Danes or Norwegians were defeated. — 
Currie. 

4 This singular figure of poetry refers to the 47th proposition of Euclid. 
In a right-angled triangle, the square of the hypothenuse is always equal to 
the square of the two other side3. — Cwrrie. 



S51 



ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, BETWEEN THE 
DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR. 1 

TTTCTE— "THB CAMEBONTAJT BA.NT," 

" O cam ye here the fight to shun P 

Or herd the sheep wi* me, man ? 
Or were you at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man ?" 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reeking -red ran monie a sheugh* 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, 3 and see the cluds, 4 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan dud3, 5 

Wha glaum' d 6 at Kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd, 

And monie a bouk 7 did fa', man ; 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords clash'd, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 

Till fey 8 men died awa, man. 

But had you seen the philibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews, 9 man, 
When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs, 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When bayonets opposed the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath, 

They fled like frighted doos, 10 man. 

•' O how deil, Tam, can that be true ? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man : 
I saw mysel, they did p v irsue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man j 

2 This poem, I am pretty well convinced, is not my brother's, but mo& 
•ncient than his birth.— Gr. B. 

2 Ditch. 3 Noises. « Clouds. » Clothes. 

• Snatched at. 7 Body. 8 Marked lor death. 

* Trousers. *o Doyes, 



152 



BUBS8. 

And at Duinblane, in my ain sight. 
They took the brio: 1 wi' a' their might, 
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight j 
But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut, 
And mortie a huntit. poor red-coat, 
For fear aniaist did swarf, 2 man." 

My sister Xate cam up the gate 

WT crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae guid-will 
That day their neebors' blood to spill ; 
For fear, by foes, that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose, they scar'd at blows, 

And so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some grail ant gentlemen 
Amang the Highland clans, man; 
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain, 

Or fallen in en'mies hands, man : 
Now wad ye sing this double fight, 
Some fell for wrang, and some for right j 
But monie bade the world guid-night ; 
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
By red claymores, and muskets' knelL 
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, 
And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 



THE DTOIFEIES TOLUXTEEES. 

TU1TB — "PUSH ABOUT THE JOBUM." 

April, 1795, 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the louns beware, Sir. 
There's wooden walls upon our seas, 

Amd volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsiucon, 8 

Adid Criflel 4 sink to Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally! 

Fal de ral, &c. 

1 I' ridge. * Swoon. 8 A hiph hill at the source of the Nith* 

* A mountain at the mouth of the same river. 



O, WHA IS SHE THAT Lo'ES MJS. <S52 

let us not like snarling tykes l 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loon* 

And with a rung 3 decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted ! 
Eal de ral, &c. 

The kettle o* the kirk and state, 

Perhaps a claut may fail in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' 4 a nail in't ; 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; — 
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Pal de ral, &c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch, his true-born brother, 
Who would set the mob aboon the throne, 

May they be d — d together ! 
Who will not sing, " God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, " G-od save the King," 

We'll ne'er forget the People. 



O, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME. 

TUNE—" MOBA.Q." 

O wha is she that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a-keeping P 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' simmer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping. 

CHORUS. 

O that's the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie, ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' womankind, 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

i Dogs. * Ragamuffin. 3 Cudgel. ♦ i>rive. 

A k 



354 bubns. 



If thou shalt meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming, 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming. 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming -, 
O that's, &c. 

If thou hadst heard her talking, 
And thy attentions plighted, 

That ilka body talking, 

But her, by thee is slighted, 
And thou art all delighted ; 
O. that's, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one ; 

"When frae her thou hast parted, 
If every other fair one, 

But her, thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted ; 
O that's the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie, ever dearer ; 
O that's the queen o' womankind. 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



CAPTAIN GROSE. 

TUNE — " SIR JOHN MALCOLM." 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose? 

Igo and ago, 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he South, or is he North? 

Igo and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth P 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 

Igo and ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 

Igo and ago, 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame P 

Iram, coram, da^o, 



WHISTLE OWEE THE LAVS O'T, 35S 

Where'er he be, the Lord oe near hira ! 

Igo and ago ; 
As for the deil, he dacr na steer l him. 

Irara, coram, dago. 

But please transmit th' enclosed letter, 

Igo and ago, 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stane3 in store, 

Igo and ago, 
The very stanes that Adam bore, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo and ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



WHISTLE OWEE THE LAVE O'T. 

Eikst when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air ; 
Now we're married — spier nae mair 2 — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Meg was nature's child — 
Wiser men than me's beguiTd ; — 

W^histle owre the lave o't. 3 

How we live, my Meg and me, 
How we love and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 
Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't — 

Whistle owre the lave o't. 

*■ Molest. * Inquire no more. 8 The rest of it« 



AH2 



356 BCfias. 

O, ONCE I LOV'D A BONNIE LASS. 1 

TTTCTB — "I AM A MAW UNMABBIED." 

O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still, 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Eal lal de ral, &c. 

As bonnie lassies I hae seen, 

And monie full as braw, 
But for a modest gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass, I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, 

And what is best of a', 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 

Both decent and genteel : 
And then there's something in her gait, 

Gars 2 onie dress look weel. 3 

A gaudy dress and gentle air 

May slightly touch the heart, 
But it's innocence and modesty 

That polishes the dart. 

i For my own part, I never had the least thought or inclination of turn- 
ing poet till I got once heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were, in a 
manner, the spontaneous language of my heart. The following composition 
was the first of my performances, and done at an early period of my life, 
when my heart glowed with honest warm simplicity ; unacquainted and un- 
corrupted with the ways of a wicked world. The performance is, indeed, 
very puerile and silly ; but I am always pleased with it, as it recals to 
my mind those happy days when my heart was yet honest and my tongue 
was sincere. The subject of it was a young girl who really deserved all the 
praises I have bestowed upon her. — E. B. She was the poet's companion in 
the harvest-field. 

2 Makes. 

* The thoughts in the fifth stanza come finely up to my tavourite idea— • 
trwee* -oodie lass. — B. B. 



YOUNG JOCKEY, ETC. 357 

Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 

'Tis this enchants my soul ! 
For absolutely in my breast 

She reigns without control. 1 

Fal lal de ral, &c. 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Young Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or hero awa ; 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud, 2 

Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha' ! 
He roos'd 3 my een sae bonnie blue, 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma' ; 
An' aye my heart came to my mou, 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw 
And o'er the lea I look fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen 4 hameward ca', 
An' aye the night comes round again, 

When in his arms he taks me a' ; 
An' aye he vows he'll be my ain 

As lang's he has a breath to draw. 



M'PHERSON'S 5 FAEEWELL. 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie : 
M'Pherson's time will not be long 

On yonder gallows tree. 

CHORUS. 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
He play'd a spring and danc'd it round, 

Below the gallows tree. 

1 The seventh stanza has several minute faults ; but I remember I com. 
posed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion. — R. B. 

2 The plough. 3 Praised. * Oxen. 

5 A not>od Highland robber, whose daring is portrayed in the verses. He 
broke his violin at the foot of the *u>luwa 



358 BURNS. 

Oil, what is death but parting breath ?— 

On monie a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 
Sae rantingly, &c. 

. Untie these bands from off my hands, 
And bring to me my sword ! 
And there's no a man in all Scotland, 
But I'll brave him at a word. 
Sae rantingly, &c. 

IVe liv'd a life of sturt 1 and strife ; 

I die by treachery : 
It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Sae rantingly, &c. 

"Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his name, 

The wretch that dare not die ! 
Sae rantingly, &c. 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 



A NEW BALLAD. 



TUNE — " THE DEAGON OP WANTLEY. 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob 2 for the famous job 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. 

This Hal, for genius, wit, and lore, 

Among the first was number'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth remember'd. 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And won his heart's desire ; 
Which shows that heaven can boil the pot, 

Though the devil — in the fire. 



* Trouble. 



2 Henry Erskine and "Robert Dundaa. 



i'll aye ca* in by yon town. 359 

Squire Hal, besides, had, in this case, 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy ; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision; 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet, 

Till for eloquence you hail him, 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye live and die, 

"$e heretic eight and thirty ! 
But accept, ye sublime Majority, 

My congratulations hearty. 
With your Honours and a certain King, 

In your servants this is striking — 
The more incapacity they bring, 

The more they're to your liking. 



I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green again : 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 
And see my bonnie Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess, 
What brings me back the gate again, 

But she, my fairest faithfu' lass, 
And stownlins 1 we sail meet agam. 

She'll wander by the aiken tree, 

When try stin- time draws near again • 

And when her lovely form I see, 
O haith, she's doubly dear again ! 

1 By stealth. 



360 BUENS. 



A BOTTLE AJS T D EBIEND. 

There's nane that's blest of human "kind, 
But the cheerful and the gay, man. 

Fal, lal, &c. 

Heee's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

What wad ye wish for mair, man ? 
Wha kens, before his life may end, 

What his share may be o' care, man P 
Then catch the moments as they fly, 

And use them as ye ought, man : — 
Believe me, happiness is shy, 

And comes not aye when sought, man. 



I'LL KISS THEE YET. 

TVNB— "THE BBAES O' BALQUIDDEB/* 
CHOEUS. 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
And I'll kiss thee o'er again, 

An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonnie Peggy Alison ! 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, O ; 
Young Kings upon their hansel 1 throne 

Are no sae blest as I am, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 

When in my arms, wi' a* thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, O ; 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 

And by thy een sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever, O j— 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, O '. 
I'll kiss thee, &c. 

i Throne first occupied. 






361 

ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 1 

TUNE — "IP HE BE A BUTCHEB NEAT AND TRIM.** 

On Cessnock banks a lassie 2 dwells ; 

Could I describe her shape and mien ; 
Our lasses a' she far excels, 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's sweeter than the morning dawn, 

When rising Phoebus first is seen 5 
And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 

An she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's stately like yon youthful ash 
That grows the cowslip braes between, 

And drinks the stream with vigour fresh ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn, 

With flow'rs so white, and leaves so green, 

When purest in the dewy morn ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her looks are like the vernal May, 
When ev'ning Phoebus shines serene, 

While birds rejoice on every spray ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 
That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en, 

When now'r-reviving rains are past ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, 
When gleaming sunbeams intervene, 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, 

The pride of all the flowery scene, 
Just opening on its thorny stem ; 

An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

1 This song was an early production. It was recovered by the editor from 
the oral communication of a lady residing at Glasgow, whom the bard in 
early life affectionately admired. — Cromek. 

2 The " lassie" was Ellison Begbie, a farmer's daughter, but then the ser- 
vant of a family living about two miles from Burns. 



362 BUENS. 

Her teeth are like the nightly snow 
When pale the morning rises keen, 

"While hid the murmuring streamlets flow ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, 
That sunny walls from Boreas screen, 

They tempt the taste and charm the sight ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 

"When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

But it's not her air. her form., her face, 
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 

'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace, 
An' chiefly in her roguish een. 



PRAYER FOR MARY. 1 

TUXE— " BLUB BOXXETS." 

Powees celestial, whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair, 
While in distant climes I wander, 

Let my Mary be your care : 
Let her form sae fair and faultless, 

Fair and faultless as your own,— 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft arouud her 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Soothe her bosom into rest ; 

i Probably written on Highland Mary, on the eve of the Poet's depar- 
ture to the West Indies.— Cromelc, 



10TJNG PEGGY. 363 

Guardian angels, O protect her, 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me, 

Make her bosom still mv home. 



YOUNG PEGGY. 1 

TUNE— "LAST TIME I CAM O'ER THE MU1E." 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, ■ 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With early gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has grac'd them, 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them : 
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild, 

When feather'd pairs are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her, 
As blooming Spring unbends the brow 

Of surly savage Winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And fretful envy grins in vain, 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and Truth, 

From ev'rj ill defend her : 
Inspire the highly favour' d youth 

The destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom ; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 

This was one of the poet's earliest compositions .—Cromek. 



364 



BUESS. 



THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HA1IE. 

A SONG. 

Br yon castle wa' at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey ? 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ; 
'We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

!My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I irreet round their green beds in the yerd j 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me down, 
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown : 
But till my last moment my words are the same—*. 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



THERE WAS A LAD. 

TTTSTE — "DALN'IIE DAVIE." 

Theee was a lad was born at Kyle, 1 
Bat what'n a day o' what'n a style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Eobin. 

Eobin was a rovin' Boy, 

Eantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 

Eobin was a rovin' Boy, 
Eantin' rovin' Eobin. 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
W r as flve-and-twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Eobin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof, 
Quo' she wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, — 
I think we'll ca' him Eobin. 

Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 



TO MARY. 3t>5 

He'll hae misfortunes great and snia f , 
But aye a heart aboon them a', 
He'll be a credit 'till us a', 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But, sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see, by ilka score and ]ine, 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith, quo* she, I doubt ye, gar, 
Ye gar the lasses lie aspar, 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur. 
So blessins on thee, Robin ! 

Hobin was a rovin' Boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' ; 
Robin was a rovin* Boy, 

Rantin' rovin' Robin. 



TO MARY. 1 

TTJ1TE— " EWE-BIT GHTS, MAEIOH"." 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

Across the Atlantic's roar ? 

sweet grows the lime and the orange, 
And the apple on the pine : 

But a' the charms o' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
1 hae sworn by the Heavens to be true 5. 

And sae may the Heavens forget me, 
When I forget my vow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily-white hand ; 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

- Mary Campbell. In my very early years, when I was thinkine o| 
going to rbf* w ^f. T r : #es, T ♦c^lr thf* foil- win? farpiwfill of » dear girl. — U. B. 



866 BUENS. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual affection to join. 
And curst be the cause that shall part us? 

The hour and the moment o' time. 



MAEY MOEISOST. 

TUKE — "BIDE YE YET." 

Maky, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor ; 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 1 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wredc his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ! 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



THE SODGEE'S EETUEN.* 

AIB— "THE MILL, MILL, O." 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawi\ 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning : 

1 Dust. 

» A soldier, passing by the window of an inn, suggested these touching 
lines, ^he Pcet called him in, and asked him to relate hia adventures. 



THE SODGERS RETTTBN. 36' 

I left the lines and tented lield, 

AVhere lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a* my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, 

Where early life I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet la3s, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn blossom, 
O ! happy, happy may he be, 

That's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang, 

And fain wad be thy lodger ; 
I've serv'd my Xing and Country lang— 

Take pity on a sodger ! 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever : 
Quo' she, " a sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it, 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't." 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose- 
Syne 1 pale like onie lily ; 

She sank within my arms and cried, 
" Art thou my ain dear Willie ?" 

i Then. 



368 BUENS. 

" By Him who made yon sun and sky, 
By whom true love's regarded, 

I am the man ; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded ! 

" The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted." 
Quo' she, " my grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailen 1 plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly I" 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's prize ; 

The sodger's wealth is honour : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger, 
Remember he's his country's stay 

In day and hour o' danger. 



MY FATHER WAS A FAEMEB.* 

TUNE — '* THE WEAVER AND HIS SHUTTLE, O." 

My Father was a Farmer, upon the Carrick border, O, 

And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O ; 

He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er & 

farthing, O — 
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth 

regarding, O. 

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O ; 

Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was 
charming, O : 

My talents they were not the worst ; nor yet my educa- 
tion, O ; 

Eesolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, O. 

1 Farm. 
2 The following song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versifica- 
tion; but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings ot my heart, for that 
reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over. — K. B. Mr. Cun- 
ningham found traces of the poet's early history in these lines. 



MY FATli.xt WAS A FARMER 369 

many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's 
favour, O ; 

Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each 
endeavour, O : 

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes by friends 
forsaken, O ; 

And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mis- 
taken, O. 

Then, sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain 
delusion, O ; 

I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this 
conclusion, O : 

The past was bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill un- 
tried, O ; 

But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would eD- 
joy it, O. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I ; nor person to befriend 

me, O ; 
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain 

me, O. 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me 

early, O ; 
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune. 

fairly, O. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd 

to wander, O ; 
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O 
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain 

or sorrow, O ; 
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O ; 

Tho Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all he 
wonted malice, O ; 

I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it far- 
ther, O ; 

But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard 
her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, O, 
Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, O ? 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd 

folly, O ; 
But comr what will, I've sworn it, still, I'll ne'er be melan^ 

choly, O. 

B B 



370 BUENS. 

All you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting 

ardour, O, 
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view 

the farther, O : 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore 

you, O, 
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before 

you, O. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER, SON. 

TUNE— " EINLAYSTON HOUSE." 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 

And piere'd my darling's heart ; 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart ! 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour' d laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish' d young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow, 

Now, fond, - 1 bare my breast ; 
O, do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love, at rest I 



BONNIE LESLEY. 1 

TUNE — "THE COLLIBB'S BONNIE DOCHTEB." 

O saw ye bonnie Lesley, 

As she gaed o'er the border ? 
She's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her for ever ; 
For Nature made her what she is, 

And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Miss Lesley Baillie. The ballad was composed by Burns aftei spending 
<\ day with the lady s family, then on their way to England. 



AMANG THE TREES. 371 

Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine, Fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Deil he could na scaith thee, 

Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
He'd look into thy bonnie face, 

And say, "T canna wrang thee." 

The Powers aboon will tent thee : 

Misfortune sha'na steer 1 thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Beturn again, Fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonnie. 



AMANG THE TEEES. 

TT7KB — "THE KING OF FBANCE, HE HAD A BACK." 

Amang the trees, where humming bees 

At buds and flowers were hinging, O, 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone, 

And to her pipe was singing, O : 
Twas Pibroch, 2 Sang, Strathspey, or Re<*a 

She dhTd them afffu' clearly, O, 
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels, 

That dang her tapsalteerie, O. — 

Their capon craws and queer ha, ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O ; 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike 

Till we were wae and weary, O : 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa, 
He nr'd a fiddler in the north 

That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 
* # # # • 

i Hurt. 
» A Highland war-song adapted to the bagpipe 



£22 



372 BUEN8. 

WHEN FIEST I CAME TO STEWAET KYLE. 

TF2TB— "i HIP A HOBSE A2TD I HAD KAE MAIB." 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady, 
Where'er I gaed, where'er 1 rade, 

A mistress still I had aye : 

But when I came ronn' by Mauchline tor* 

]S*ot dreadin' onie body, 
My heart was caught before I thought, 

And by a Mauchline lady. 
# # * * • 



ON SENSIBILITY. TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONC URED 
FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. 



AIB — ' ' SENSIBILITY. 



Sensibility, how charming, 
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell j 

But distress, with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well. 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 

Telling o'er his little joys ; 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought, the hidden treasure 
Finer feelings can bestow ; 

Chords, that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 
Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



373 

MONTGOMEEIE'S PEGGY. 5 

TUNE— '* GALLA WATEB." 

Altho* my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be, 

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and rainy , 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. 

Were I a Baron proud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 

The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's Peggy. 

> # # * * 



ON A BANK OF FLOWEES. 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 

For summer lightly drest, 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep opprest ; 

When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood, 
Who for her favour oft had sued, 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd, 

Were seal'd in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd, 

It richer dy'd the rose. 

The springing lilies sweetly prest, 
Wild, wanton kiss'd her rival breast ; 

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
His bosom ill at rest. 

1 My Montgomerie's Peggy was my deity for six or eight months. I 
have tried to imitate, in this extempore thing, that irregularity in the rhyme 
which, when i udiciously done, has such a fine effect on the ear. — B. B. 



g74. buexs. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze, 
Her tender limbs embrace ! 

Her lovely form, her native ease, 
All harmony and grace ! 

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 
A faltering ardent kiss he stole ; 

He gaz d, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 
And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake, 

On fear-inspired wings ; 
So Nelly, starting, half awake, 

Away affrighted springs : 

But Willie follow'd — as he should, 
He overtook her in the wood : 

He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 
Forgiving all, and good. 



O BAGING FORTUNE'S WITHERING BLAST. 

O eaging Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
O raging Fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 

My stem was fair, my bud was green, 
My blossom sweet did blow, O ! 

The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 
And made my branches grow, O. 

But luckless Fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O ! 
But luckless Fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, O ! 



EVAN BANKS. 

TUNE—" SAVOUBNA DELISH.'* 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires* 
The sun from India's shore retires : 
To Evan Banks with temp'rate ray, 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 



women's MINDS. ^7v> 

Oh ! Banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh ! stream, whose murmurs still I hear ! 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest, 
Whose image lives within thy breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh, 
And long pursued me with her eye : 

Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde P 

Ye lofty Banks that Evan bound, 
Ye lavish woods that wave around, 
And o'er the stream your shadows throw, 
W hich sweetly winds so far below ; 

What secret charm to mem'ry brings, 
All that on Evan's border springs ! 
Sweet Banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side : 
Blest stream ! she views thee haste to Clyde. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ! 
Return, ye moments of delight, 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
ISor more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to Clyde 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

TUNE — "FOB A* THAT." 

Tho' women's minds, like winter winds, 
May shift and turn, and a' that, 

The noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence I draw that. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as meikle's a' that, 

The bonnie lass that I lo'e loes\ 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 



376 BTTBNS. 

But there is ane aboonthe lave. 

Has wit, and sense, and a' that : 
A bonnie lass, I like her best, 

And wha a crime dare ea' that ? 
For a' that, &c. 



TO AIABY m HEAVEN. 1 

TTTN"E — "MISS FOBBES' FABEWELL TO BANF?." 

Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Alary from my soul was torn. 
O Alary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest P 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love ? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene. 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, — 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaim'd the speed of wmged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th' impression deeper makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Alary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

1 The iMary Campbell already mentioned. The stanzas were composed 
Hhile Burns lay on some sheaves in the harvest-field, with his eyes fixed on a 
Btar of exceeding brightness. 



377 



TO MARY. 

Could aught of song declare my pains, 
Could artful numbers move thee, 

The Muse should tell, in labour'd strains, 
O Mary, how I love thee ! 

They who but feign a wounded heart 
May teach the lyre to languish ; 

But what avails the pride of art, 
When wastes the soul with anguish P 

Then let the sudden bursting sigh 
The heart-felt pang discover ; 

And in the keen, yet tender eye, 
O read the imploring lover. 

For well I know thy gentle mind 
Disdains art's gay disguising ; 

Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd, 
The voice of nature prizing. 



O LEAVE NOVELS. 

O leave novels, ye Mauchline belles, 
Ye're safer at your spinning wheel ; 

Such witching books are baited hooks 
For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
They make your youthful fancies reel, 

They heat your brains, and fire your veins, 
And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung ; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part, — 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress, 

Are worse than poison 'd darts of steel j 

The frank address, and politesse, 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossriel. 



378 BuitNs. 

ADDEESS TO GEXESAL DUMOUBIEE. 

A PAEODY ON EOBIN ADAIE. 1 

You'ee welcome to despots, Dumourier; 
You're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 

How does Dampiere do ? 

Aye, and Bournonville too ? 
Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier ? 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier; 
I will fight Prance with you, Dumourier ; 

I will fight Prance with you ; 

I will take my chance with you ; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 

Then let us fight about, 

Till freedom's spark is out, 
Then we'll be d — d, no doubt, Dumourier. 



SWEETEST MAY. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire thee 5 
Take a heart which he designs thee j 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
Por its faith and truth reward it. 
Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
2s"ot the wealthy, but the bonnie ; 
Not high-born, but noble-minded, 
In love's silken band can bind it ! 



OIN T E NIGHT AS I DID WANDEE. 

TTTITB— " JOHN A.>"DEBSO>-, MT JO." 

One night a3 I did wander, 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down to ponder, 

Upon an auld tree-root : 

1 * Eolin Adair" begins, " You're welcome to Paxton, Eobin Adai*, 



THE WINTER IT IS PAST, ETC. 379 

Auld Ayre ran by before me, 

And bicker'd to the seas ; 
A cushat crowded o'er me, 

That echoed thro' the braes. 



THE WINTER IT IS PAST. 1 

A FRAGMENT. 

The winter it is. past, and the simmer's come at last, 

And the little birds sing on every tree ; 
Now everything is glad, while I am very sad, 

Since my true love is parted from me. 
The rose upon the brier, by the waters running clear, 

May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, 

But my true love is parted from me. 



FRAGMENT. 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 

Her lips are roses wet wi' dew ! 
O, what a feast her bonnie mou ! 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner ! 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.* 

TUNE — " CAPTAIN O c KEAN." 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale j 

The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning, 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

1 Gilbert Burns denied his brother's authorship of this fragment, which, in 
early boyhood, he had heard their mother sing. 

2 These admirable stanzas are supposed to be spoken by the young 
Prince Charles Edward, when wandering in the Highlands of Scotland, after 
bis fatal defeat at Culloden. — Thomson. 



380 BUBNS. 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 

No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd could it merit their malice, 
A King, or a Father, to place on his throne ? 

His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys. 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find noi • ' 

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn ; 

My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn : 
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 

Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ? 



THE BELLES OP MAUCHLIKE. 

TUNE—" BONNIE DUNDEE." 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young Belles, 

The pride of the place and its neighbourhood a', 
Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess, 

In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 
Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 

Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw : 
There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Morton, 

But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a 5 . 



HEEE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA. 



Heee's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 

Its guid to be merry and wise, 

Its guid to be honest and true, 

It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's a health to Charlie 1 the chief o' the clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma'. 

» Charles Tox 






DAMON AND SYLVIA, ETC. 381 

Hay liberty meet wi' success ! 
#ay prudence protect her frae evil ! 
♦lay tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 
And wander their way to the Devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's a health to Tammie, 1 the Norland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 

Here's freedom to him that wad read, 

Here's freedom to him that wad write ! 

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be 

But they wham the truth wad indite. [heard 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod, 2 a chieftain worth gowd, 

Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw I 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

TUNE — "THE TITHE* MOBN - , AS I FOBLOBN." 

T )N wand'ring rill, that marks the hill, 
And glances o'er the brae, Sir, 

Slides by a bower where monie a flower 
Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay : 
To love they thought nae crime, Sir ; 

The wild- birds sang, the echoes rang, 
While Damon's heart beat time, Sir. 



MY LADY'S GOWN THEEE'S GAIES UPON'T. 

CHOEUS. 

My lady's gown there's gairs upon't, 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't ; 
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet, 
My lord thinks muokle mair upon't. 

My lord a-hunting he is gane, 
But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane, 
By Colm'a cottage lies his game, 
It Colin's Jenny be at hame. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Erskine. * M'Leod, chief of that cl&a. 




382 BUBNS. 

My lady's white, my lady's red, 
And kith and kin o' Cassiilis' blude, 
But her ten-pimd lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass, 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in the wilderness. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, 
Like music notes o' lover's hymns : 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 
My lady's gown, &c. 

My lady's dink, 1 my lady's drest, 
The flower and fancy o' the west ; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
O that's the lass to make him blest. 
My lady's gown, &c. 



O AYE MY WIFE SHE DAK"G ME. 

CHOEUS. 

O aye my wife she dang me, 
An' aft my wife she bang'd me ; 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 
Guid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 

On peace and rest my mind was bent, 

And fool I was I marry 'd ; 
But never honest man's intent 

As cursedly miscarry 'd. 

Some sairie 2 comfort still at last, 
When a' thir days are done, man, 

My pains o' hell on earth is past, 
I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
O aye my wife, &c. 

1 Neat. * SorrowfW. 



SS3 

THE BANKS OF NITDL 

A BALLAD. # 

To tliee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd, 

Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe, 
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd. 

1 love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 
T ho' rnem'ry there my bosom tear ; 

For there he rov'd that brake my heart, 
Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear ! 



BONNIE PEG-. 

As I came in by our gate end, 

As day was waxin' weary, 
O wha came tripping down the street, 

But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
Wi' nae proportion wanting, 

The Queen of Love did never move 
Wi' motion mair enchanting. 

Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 

A- down yon winding river ; 
And, oli ! that hour and broomy bower. 

Can I forget it ever ? 



O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 

chorus. 

O lay thy Ioof i in mine, lass, 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 

And swear in thy white hand, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

A slave to Love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae ; 
But now he is my deadly fae, 
Unless thou be my ain. 
O lay thy loof, &c. 

1 Palm of the hand. 



384 BUENS. 

There's monie a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best; 
But thou art Queen within my breast, 
Eor # ever to remain. 

lay thy loof, &c. 



O GUID ALE COMES. 

CHOEUS. 

O guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars me sell my hose — 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon 

I had sax owsen in a pleugh, 
They drew a' weel eneugh, 
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane ; 
Guid ale keeps my heart abcon. 

Guid ale hauds me bare and busy, 
Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie, 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 
O guid ale comes, &c. 



O WHY THE DEUCE. 

EXTEMPORE. APEIL, 1782. 

why the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill foreboder ? 

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine— 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi* meikle care, 
I held it weel thegither ; 

But now it's gane and something mair y 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



385 
POLLY STEWART. 

ttTNE— "YE'bE WELCOME, CHABLIE STEWAB7.** 

CHORUS. 

O lovely Polly Stewart, 

O charming Polly Stewart, 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May. 

That's half so fair as thou art. 

The flower it blaws, it fades, it fa's, 

And art can ne'er renew it ; 
But worth and truth eternal youth 

Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he, whase arms shall fauld thy charms. 

Possess a leal and true heart ; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart ! 
O lovely, &c. 



ROBIN SHUKE EST HAIRST, 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst, 

I shure wi' him, 
Pient a heuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I gaed up to Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden. 

At his daddie's yett, 

Wha met me but Robin. 

Was na Robin bauld, 

Tho' I was a cotter, 
Play'd me sic a trick, 

And me the eliei's dochterf 
Robin shure, &c. 

Robin promis'd me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet he had but three 
Goose feathers and a whittle 
Robin shure, &c. 
c c 



386 BTTSN3. 

THE FIVE CAKLINS. 1 — AN ELECTION BALLAD, 

TUKE — "CHEVY CHASE." 

Theee were five Carlins in the south, 

They fell upon a scheme, 
To send a lad to Lun'on town 

To bring us tidings hame. 

l^ot only bring us tidings hame, 

But do our errands there, 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggie 2 by the banks o* JN"itL, 

A dame wi' pride enough ; 
And Marjorie 3 o' the monie Lochs, 

A Carlin auld an' teugh. 

/And blinkin Bess 4 o' Annandale, 
That dwells near Solway side, 
And whisky Jean 5 that took her gill 
In Galloway so wide. 

And auld black Joan 6 fra Creighton peel, 

O 5 gipsy kith an' kin. 
Five weightier Carlins were na found 

The south countrie within. 

To send a lad to Lon'on town 7 

They met upon a day, 
And monie a Knight, and monie a Laird, 
' That errand fain would gae. 

O ! monie a Knight, and monie a Laird, 

This errand fain would gae ; 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

O ! ne'er a ane but twae. 

The first ane was a belted Knight, 8 

Bred o' a border clan ; 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

Might nae man him withstan' ; 

1 The five boroughs of Dumfries-shire aud Kirkcudbright. 
©wnfries. 3 Lochmaben. 4 Annan, 

s Kirkcudbright. e Sanquhar. 

7 The five boroughs returned one member, 
8 Sir James Johnsto"" 



TIIE FIVE CARLI3S. 387 

And he wad doe their errands weel, 

And meikle he wad say, 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him gui 1 day. 

Then neist came in a sodger youth, 1 

And spak wi' modest grace. 
An' he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

If sae their pleasure was. 

He wr.d rr^ hecht 2 them courtly gift, 

JN"or meikle speech pretend ; 
But he wad hecht an honest heart 

Wad ne'er desert his friend. 

How, whom to choose, and whom refuse, 

To strife thae Garlins fell ; 
Per some had gentle folk to please, 

And some wad please themsel. 

Than out spak mim-mou'd ~S±eg o' ISith 

An' she spak out wi' pride, 
An* she wad send the sodger youth 

Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guidman o' Lon'on couit 

She dinna care a pin, 
But she wad send the sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son. 

Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale : 

A deadly aith she's ta'en, 
That she wad vote the border Knight, 

Tho' she should vote her lane. 

For far-aff fowls hae feathers fair, 

An' fools o' change are fain : 
But I hae tried this border Knight, 

An' I'll trie him yet again. 

Says auld black Joan frae Creighton pe&\ 

A Carlin stout and grim, 
The auld guidman, or young guidman, 

For me may sink or swim ! 

For fools may prate o' right and wrang, 
While knaves laugh them to scorn : 

But the sodger's friends hae blawn the besi 
Sae he shall bear the horn. 

* Captain Miller. 2 Offer. 

cc2 



388 



BURNS. 

Then whiskey Jean spak owre her drink, 

" Ye weel ken, kimmers a', 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 

His back's been at the wa\ 

And monie a friend that kiss'd his caup, 

Is now a fremit wight ; 
But it's ne'er sae wi' whiskey Jean, — 

We'll send the border Knight.". 

Then slow raise Marjorie o' the Lochs, 

And wrinkled was her brow ; 
Her ancient weed was russet gray, 
Her auld Scots heart was true. 

" There's some great folks set light by me, 

I set as light by them ; 
But I will send to Lon'on town, 

Wha I lo'e best at hame." 

So how this weighty plea will end, 

Nae mortal wight can tell ; 
God grant the King, and ilka man, 

May look weel to himsel' I 1 



THE DEUKS DAJSTG O'ER MY DADDIE. 

The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 

The deuks dang o'er my dadaie, O ! 
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie aidd wife, 

He was but a paidlin body, O ! 
He paidles out, and he paidles in, 

An' he paidles late and early, O ; 
Thae seven lang years I hae lien by his side, 

An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O. 

O haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 

O haud your tongue now, Wansie, O : 
IVe seen the day, and sae hae ye, 

Ye wadna been sae donsie, O : 
IVe seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 

And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O ,• 
But downa do's come o'er me now, 

And, oh, I feel it sairly, I 

» Miller was elected. 






389 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO MS. 

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, 

As to the north I took my way, 
The mirksome night did me enfauld, 

I knew na where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met, 

Just in the middle o' my care ; 
And kindly she did me invite 

To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And thank'd her for her courtesie ; 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And bade her mak a bed to me. 

Sll w made tlie bed baitil lar £ e and wi(le > 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it down ; 

one put the cup to her rosy lips, 
And drank, " Young man, now sleep ye soun. 11 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 
And frae my chamber went wi' speed ; 

-but I call'd her quickly back again 
To lay some mair below my head. 

A cod 1 she laid below my head, 

And served me wi' due respect ; 
And to salute her wi' a kiss, 

I put my arms about her neck, 

" ? a A Ud a a ? r JOur hands ' y° un S m ™>" she says, 
And dmna sae uncivil be ; 

If ye hae onie love for me, 

O wrang na my virginite !" 

Her hair was like the links o' gowd, 

Her teeth were like the ivorie ; 
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; 
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, 

The lass that made the bed to me 

1 A pillow. 



390 BUE>'S. 

I kissed her owre and owre again, 
And aye she wist na what to say ; 

I laid her Veen me and the wa', 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow when we rose, 
I thank 'd her for her courtesie ; 

But aye she blush'd, and aye she sighed, 
And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'd me." 

I elasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, 
While the tear stood twinklin in her e'e ; 

I said, ".My lassie, dinna cry, 

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me' 

She took her mither's Holland sheets, 
And made them a' in sarks to me : 

Blythe and merry may she be, 
the lass that made the bed to me. 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me, 
The braw lass made the bed to me : 

I'll ne'er forget till the day I die, 
The lass that made the bed to me ! 



THE UNION. 



TUNE — "SUCH A PARCEL OF EOGUES IN A NATION. 

Faeeweel to a' Scottish fame, 

Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 

Sae fam'd in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province stands % 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

What guile or force could not subdue. 

Through many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few, 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The EngJish steel we could disdain, 

Secure in valour's station, 
But English gold has been our bane ;— 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 



THEKE WAS A BONNIE LASS, ETC. 391 

O would, or had I seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grey head had lien in clay 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour 

I'll niak this declaration, 
We're bought and sold for English gold :— 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnie lass, 
And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie, dear ; 

Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, 
Wi' monie a sigh and tear. 

Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, 

He still was a stranger to fear : 
And nocht could him quell, or his bosom assail, 

But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY. 

TUNE — "HIGHLANDER'S LAMENT." 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strode he on the plain ! 

But now he's banish'd far away, 
I'll never see him back again. 

CHORUS. 

O for him back again, 
O for him back again, 
1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land, 
For Highland Harry back again. 

When a* the lave gae to their bed, 

I wander dowie up the glen ; 
I sit me down and greet my fill, 

And aye I wish him back again. 
O for him, &o. 

O were some villains hangit high, 

And ilka body had their ain, 
Then I might see the joyfu' sight, 

My Highland Harry back again! 
O for him, &c. 



392 buens. 



TIBBIE DUJSTBAK 

TUNE—" JOHNNY M'GILL." 

O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar P 

wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
Wilt tbou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, 
Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 

1 care na thy daddie, his lands and his money, 
I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me for better, for waur, 
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar P 



WEE WILLIE. 



Wee Willie G-ray, and his leather wallet ; 
Peel a willow- wand to be him boots and jacket : 
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet 
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet 
Wee Willie G-ray, and his leather wallet ; 
Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat ; 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet. 






THE HEEMIT. 1 

Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading, 
Think not, though from the world receding. 
I joy my lonely days to read in 

This desert drear, — 
That fell remorse, a conscience bleeding, 

Hath led me here. 

Ko thought of guilt my bosom sours — 
Free-wilTd I fled from courtly bow'rs ; 
For well I saw in halls and tow'rs, 

That lust and pride, 
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest pow'rs, 

In state preside. 

3 Written on a marble sideboard, in the Hermitage belonging to the 
r>uke of Athole, in the wood of Aberi'eldy. 



THE HEEMIT. 393 

I saw mankind with vice encrusted ; 
I saw that honour's sword was rusted ; 
That few for aught but folly lusted ; 
That he was still deceiv'd, who trusted 

To love, or friend ; — 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly, 

Alike a foe to noisy folly, 

And brow-brent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

This rock my shield, when storms are blowing, 
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing, 
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food ; 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 
This grot, than e'er I felt before in 
A palace, — and with thoughts still soaring 
. To G-od on high, 
Each night and morn with voice imploring, 
This wish I sigh : — 

Let me, O Lord, from life retire, 
Unknown each guilty, worldly fire, 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire ; — 

And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly ! 

Stranger ! if full of youth and not, 
And yet no gricjf has marr'd thy quiet, 
Thou haply throw 'st a scornful eye at 

The Hermit's prayer ; 
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care, — 

If thou hast known false love's vexation, 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, 

And makes thee pine — 
Oh ! how must thou lament thy station, 

And envy mine ! 



394 



BURN?, 



O&AIGIE-BUEN-WOOD. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, 
And O to be lying beyond thee ; 

O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep, 
That's laid in the bed beyond thee. 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood, 

And blythely awakens the morrow ; 
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-w( 

Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

I hear the wild birds singing ; 
But pleasure they hae nane for me, 

While care my heart is wringing. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

I canna tell, I maun na tell, 

I dare na for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 

Beyond thee, &c. 

I see thee gracefu', straight and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonnie, 
But oh, what will my torments be, 

If thou refuse my Johnnie ! 
Beyond thee, &c. 

To see thee in anither's arms, 

In love to lie and languish, 
'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 

My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 
Beyond thee, &c. 

But Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine — 

Say, thou lo'es nane before me 5 
An' a' my days o' life to come, 

I'll gratefully adore thee. 
Beyond thee, &e, 



395 



HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER, 

TUNE — "THE JOB OP JOUBNEY-WOBK." 

Altho' my back be at the wa' y 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
Altho' my back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 
O ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie he could flatter ; 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair, 

And dree the kintra clatter. 
But tho' my back be at the wa\ 

And tho' he be the fautor ; 
But tho' my back be at the wa,' 

Yet, here's his health in water i 



AS DOWN THE BURN THEY TOOK THEIR WAY, 

As down the burn they took their way, 

And thro' the flowery dale ; 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 

And love was aye the tale. 

With " Mary, when shall we return, 

Sic pleasure to renew ?" 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn. 

And ay shall follow you." 



LADY ONLIE. 

TUNE — " BUFFIAtf's BANT.' 



A' the lads o' Thcrnie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o* Bucky, 
They'll step in an' tak\a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



396 bukns. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed 
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



AS I WAS A WANDERING. 

TUN'S — "BINN MEUDtAL MO MHEALLADH." 

As I was a wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin', 

The pipers and youngsters were makhr their game ; 

Aniang them I spied my faithless fause lover, 
Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again. 

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gaewi' him ; 

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; 
T flatter my fancy I may get anither, 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 

I could na get sleeping till dawin for greetin', 1 

The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain : 

Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken, 
For, oh ! love forsaken's a tormenting pain. 

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, 
I dinna envy him the gains he can win ; 

I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow 
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' hir; 

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain ; 
I flatter my fancy I may get anither, 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 

TUNE— "THE EILLOGIE." 

Bannocks o' bear 2 meal, 
Bannocks o' barley ; 

Here's to the Highlandman's 
Bannocks o' barley. 

* Till dawn for weeping. 2 Barley. 



OUB THEISSLES FLOUEISHED FEESH AND FAIE. 397 

Wha in a brulzie 

Will first cry a parley? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 

.Bannocks o' bear meal, 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here's to the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley* 
Wha in his wae-days 

Were loyal to Charlie P 
Wha' but the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley. 






OUR THRISSLES 1 FLOURISHED FRESH AND FAIK. 

ITJITE — "AWAj WHIGS, AWA." 

CHOEUS. 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye 're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae good at a'. 

Oue thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, 
And bonnie bloom'd our roses ; 

But Whigs came in like frost in June, 
And wither 'd a' our posies. 

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust — 
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't ; 

And write their names in his black beuk, 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriving ; 
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse, 

And we hae done wi' thriving. 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 

But we may see him wauken ; 
Gude help the day when royal heads 

Are hunted like a maukin. 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 

Awa, Whigs, awa! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae gude at a*. 

I Thistles. 



398 BUSNS. 



PEG-A-EAMSEY. 

5SJTE — "CAT7LD IS THE E'ENIS' BLa8T.' j 

Cauld is the e'enin' blast 
O' Boreas o'er the pool, 

And dawin' it is dreaiy, 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

O bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 
"When bitter bites the frost, 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hills and glens are lost. 

!N"e'er sae murky blew the nigb 
That drifted o'er the hill. 

But a bonnie Peg-a-Eanisey 
Gat grist to her mill. 



COME BOAT ME O'EE TO CHAELIE.* 

TT7XE — "O'EB THE TTATEB TO CHAKLIE." 

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
I'll gie John Eoss another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 

Tho' some there be abhor him : 
But O, to see auld xS"ick gaun hame, 

And Charlie's faes before him ! 
I swear and vow by moon and stars, 

And sun that shines so early, 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

We'll o'er the water to Charlie ; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and g<v 
And live or die wi' Charlie ! 

1 An old song, restored by Burna. 



399 
BEAW LADS OF GALLA WATEB. 

TUNE — " GALLA WATEB." 
CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water.. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent 1 her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie ; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou', 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss amang the heather ; 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom, 

Down amang the broom, my dearie, 
The lassie lost a silken snood, 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. 3 
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the watey, 



COMING THEOUGH THE EYE. 

TUNE — " COMING THEOUGH THE EYB." 

Coming- through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye, 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 

Coming through the rye. 

Gin a body meet a body — 
Coming through the rye ; 

Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body cry ? 
i High and smooth. 9 Outburst of %n$L 



400 Brims, 

Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the glen* 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need the world ken ? 
Jenny's a' wat, poor body ; 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petti coatie, 

Coming through the rye. 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFEOHAPT. 

TUJS T E — "JACKY LATIN." 

Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 

O gat ye me wi' naething P 
Hock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour, 1 my gutcher 2 has 

A hich house and a laigh ane, 
A' forbye, my bonnie sel', 

The toss 3 of Ecclefechan. 

baud your tongue now, Luckie Laing, 

baud your tongue and jauner ; 4 

1 held the gate till you I met, 

Syne I began to wander : 
I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 

But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 



EXTEMi'OEE EST THE COUET OF SESSIOJS*. 

TUNE — " GILLICBANKIE." 
LORD ADVOCATE. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fisi 

He quoted and he hinted, 
Till in a declamation-mist, 

His argument he tint it : 
Hegaped for't, he graped 5 for't, 

He fand it was awa, man ; 
But what his common sense came short, 

He eked out wi' law, man. 

a Grand sire. 8 Toast. * Taikiios. 

5 Groped. 






HAD I THE WYTE. 401 



MR. EESK1NE. 

Collected. Harry stood awee, 

Then open'd out his arm, man ; 
His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e, 

And ey'd the gathering storm, man ; 
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail, 

Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
The Bench, sae wise, lift up their eyes, 

Half-wauken'd wi' the din, man. 



HAD I THE WYTE. 

TUNE — "HAD I THE WYTE SHE BADE ME." 

Had I the wyte, 1 had I the wyte, 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, 

And up the loan 2 she shaw'd me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben, 

And bade me make nae clatter ; 
" For our ramgunshoch, glum guidma,. 

Is out and ower the water :" 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, 

When I did kiss and dawte 3 her, 
Let him be planted in my place, 

Syne say I was the fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for sname, 

Could I for shame refuse her ? 
And wadna manhood been to blame, 

Had I unkindly used her ? 
He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame, 4 

And blue and bluidy bruised her ; 
When sic a husband was frae hame, 

What wife but had excused her H 

J Uiame. 2 Milking-plaee. 5 FuckL 

* Instrument for dressing flax. 

T> D 



.£02 EUKN8. 



I diglited ay her een sae blue, 

And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
And we el I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
A gloamin-shot h was I trow, 

I lighted on the Monday ; 
But I came through the Tysday's dew s 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



HEE BALOU. 1 

TUNE — "THE HIGHLAND BALOU." 

Hee ablou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronaid ; 
Erawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 

Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie, 2 
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie : s 
Travel the country thro' and thro', 
And bring hame a Carlisle Cow. 

Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 4 
Herry 5 the louns o' the laigh countree, 
Syne 6 to the Highlands hame to me. 



HEE DADDIE EOKBAD. 

Tr>~E— " JUMPIN ' JOHN." 

Eee daddie forbad, her minnie forbad ; 

Forbidden she wadna be : 
She wadna trow't 7 the browst she brew'd 
Wad taste sae bitterlie. 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie ; 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, 
And thretty gude shillins and three ; 

A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man's dochter, 
The lass with the bonnie black e'e. 

1 A child's lullaby. * Xcck. * Horse. * Succeed. Pluude* 

6 Then. n B*i|«veit. 



here's to thy health, etc. 403 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin* John 

Beguiled the boimie lassie ; 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNIE LASS. 

TUNE — ''LAGGAN BURN." 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 
Gude night, and joy be wi' thee ; 

I'll come nae mair to thy bower door, 
To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink, 
But I can live without thee : 

1 vow and swear I dinna care 
How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt aye sae free informing me 

Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 
I'll be as free informing thee 

Nae time hae I to tarry. 
I ken thy friends try ilka means, 

Erae wedlock to delay thee ; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low estate, 

But that does never grieve me ; 
But I'm as free as any he, 

Sma' siller will relieve me. 
I count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae lang as I'll enjoy it : 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far-aff fowls hae feathers fair, 

And aye until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care, 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel, 

Nae travel makes him wear}^. 

*> *> 2 



404 BUENS, 






HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

TUNB — "THE DUSTY MILLBB." 

Hey, tlie dusty miller, 

And his dusty coat ; 

He will win a shilling, 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat, 

Dusty was the colour, 
Dusty was the kiss 

That I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 
Fills the dusty peck, 

Brings the dusty siller ; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THE CARDIN' O'T. 1 

TTT1TB— " SALT PISH AND DUMPLINGS." 

I coet a stane o' haslock woo', 

To make a wat 2 to Johnny o't ; 
For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray, 5 
And tho' his brow be beld aboon ; 
Yet I hae seen him on a day, 
The pride of a' the parishen. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o J t; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lynin o't. 

» " The little of this song to which antiquity lays claim, is so trifling t?iat 
Ihf /ehole may be said to be the work of Burns. The tenderness ol 
Jonnnie's wife can only be fully felt by those who know that hause-lock wooi 
is the softest and finest of the fleece, and is shorn from the throats of sheep 
in the summer heat." — A. Cunningham. 

* An outer garment. s Mingled witn gray- 






405 
THE JOYFUL WIDOWEB. 

TUNE — "MAGGY LAUDEB." 

I married with a scolding wife 

The fourteenth of November 3 
She made me weary of my life, 

By one unruly member. 
Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 

And many griefs attended ; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke, 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years, 

A man and wife together ; • 
At length from me her course she steerY 

And gone I know not whither : 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter, 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her ; 
But sure her soul is not in hell, 

The deil would ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft, 

And imitating thunder ; 
For why, — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 



THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE MAKY. 

TUNE — "THE BUFFIAN'S BANT." 

In coming by the brig 1 o' Dye, 

At Dariet we a blink did tarry ; 
As day was dawin in the sky, 

We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary } 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
ITssin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

1 Bridge. 



406 BTJKKS. 



Her een sae bright, her brow sae white* 

Her haffet 1 locks as brown's a berry, 
An* aye they dimpled wi' a smile 
The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaid ie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

We lap an' danced the lee-lang day, 
. Till piper lads were wae an' weary, 
But Charlie gat the spring to pay 
For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary j 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 



THE FAKEWELL. 

tUNE — "IT WAS A' FOB OUR KIGHTFTj' KINS." 

It was a* for our rightfu' King, 
We left fair Scotland's strand ; 

It was a* for our rightfu' King, 
We e'er saw Irish land, 

My dear, — 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

"Now a* is done that men can do, 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell, 

For I maun cross the main, 
My dear, — 

For I maun cross the main. 

He turn'd him right, and round about, 

Upon the Irish shore ; 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore, 
My dear, — 

With adieu for evermore. 

1 By the side of the head. 



IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE, ETC. 407 

Tlie sodger from -be wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
£ut I hae parted frae my love, 

Never to meet again, 

My dear, — 

Never to meet again. 

When day is gane, and night is come, 

And a' folk bound to sleep ; 
I think on him that's far awa', 

The lee-lang night, and weep, 
My dear, — 

The lee-lang night, and weep. 



IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE, 

TUNE — "THE MAID'S COMPLAINT." 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face 

Nor shape that I admire, 
Although thy beauty and thy gr/^e 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee, 

To praise, to love, I find ; 
But dear as is thy form to me, 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungenrous wish I hae, 

Nor stronger in my breast, 
Than if I canna mak thee sae, 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, 

Eor thee I'd bear to die. 



JAMIE, COME TEY ME. 

TTTNE — "JAMIE, COME TEY MB." 
CHOEUS. 

Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come trv me. 



403 BFBNS. 

If thou should ask my love, 
Could I deny thee ? 

If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 

Wha could espy thee ? 
If thou wad be my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 
Jamie, come try me, 
Jamie, come try me ; 
If thou would win my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWItf. 

TTJ2TB — "HEY TTJTTI, TAITI." 

Landlady, count the lawin, 1 
The day is near the dawin ; 
Ye re a' blind drunk, boys, 
And I'm but jolly fou. 

Hey tutti, taiti, 

How tutti, taiti — 

"Wha's fou now ? 

Cog an' ye were aye fou, 
Cog an' ye were aye fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you, 
If ye were aye fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the King, boys? 
And the companie ! 

Hey tutti, taiti, 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 

i Beckoning* 



409 
MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET. 1 

TUNE — "lady badingscoth's beel." 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 

My love she's but a lassie yet ; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa, 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O ; 

I rue the day I sought her, O ; 
Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd, 

But he may say he's bought her, O ! 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

An' could na preach for thinkin' o't. 






MY HEAET WAS ANCE. 

TUNE— "TO THE WEAVEES GIN TE GO." 

My heart was ance as blythe and free 

As simmer days were lang, 
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
Has gart 2 me change my sang. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids ; 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right, gang ne'er at night. 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mithcr sent me to the town, 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin o't 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart as wi' a net, 

In every knot and thrum. 3 

d This song and the following one were only partly written by Bums, 
2 Made. 3 Thread remaining at the end of a web. 



410 BTJEN3. 



I sat beside my warpin vrheel, 

And aye I ca'd it roun' ; 
But every shot and every knock, 

My heart it gae a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west, 

Wi' visage pale and wan, 
As my bonnie westlin weaver iad 

Convoy'd me thro' the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra soon 
Will ken as wjel's mysel. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede 1 you right, gang ne'er at nighffc 
To the weavers gin ye go. 



LOVELY DAVIES. 2 

TUNE — "MISS ilUIE." 

O how shall I, unskilful, try, 

The poet's occupation, 
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, 

That whisper inspiration ? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair, 

Than aught they ever gave us, 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 
Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 

Like Phoebus in the morning, 
When past the shower, and ev'ry flower 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, 

When winter-bound the wave is ; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun part 

Erae charming, lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, 
That maks us mair than princes ; 

A sceptr'd hand, a King's command, 
Is in her darting glances : 

1 Advise. 
9 Deborah Davies, the youngest daughter of Dr. Davies, of Tenby, 8outh 
Wales. She was the victim of an unrequited attachment for an officer who 
died abroad. In a letter to this lady, Burns calls woman " the Uood-roya 
of life." 



kenmtjee's on and awa. -ii^ 

The man in arms, 'gainst female charms, 

Even lie her willing slave is ; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Of conquering, love]y Davies. 
My muse to dream of such a theme, 

Her feeble powers surrenders ; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendours : 
I wad in vain essay the strain, 

The deed too daring brave is ; 
I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 



KENMTTEE'S ON AND AWA. 

TUNE — "O, KENMUEE'S ON AND ATVA, WILLIE." 

O, Kenmube's on and awa, Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig, 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's bludey 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame ; 
But soon wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmure's lord come hame. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa ; 
And here's the flower that I lo'e best— 

The rose that's like the snaw. 



413 BUBN8. 



THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

TUNE — "O MOUNT AND GO." 
CHOEUS. 

O, mount and go, 
Mount and make you ready } 

O, mount and go, 
And be the Captain's Lady. 

When the drums do beat, 
And the cannons rattle, 

Thou shalt sit in state, 
And see thy love in battle. 

When the vanquish' d foe 

Sues for peace and quiet, 
To the shades we'll go, 
And in love enjoy it. 
O, mount and go, 
Mount and make you ready ; 

O, mount and go, 
And be the Captain's lady. 






LADY MARY-A^JS". 

TUNE — " CBAIGTOWN'S GE0WIN6." 

O, Lady Mary -Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa', 
She saw three bonnie boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower amang them a' 
My bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growing yet. 

O father! O father! 

An' ye think it fit. 
We'll send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon 

Round about his hat, 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary- Ann 

Was a flower i* the dew, 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. 413 

Sweet was its smell, 

And bonnie was its hue ! 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet, 

Young Charlie Cochran 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin* 

And straught was its make: 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake, 
And it will be the brag 

O' the forest yet. 

The simmer is gane 

When the leaves they were green, 
And the days are awa 

That we hae seen ; 
But far better days 

I trust will come again, 
For my bonnie laddie's young, 

But he's growin' yet. 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.? 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Without a penny in my purse, 

To buy a meal to me. 

It was na sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Feeding on yon hills so high, 

And giving milk to me. 

And there I had three score o' yowes, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, 

And casting woo' to me. 

1 1 do not know on what authority Mr. Cunningham assigns this Jacobs 
Bong to Burns ; tor I have heard old ladies sing it who remember its 
existence anterior to the poet's time. — Motherwell. 



41 ■£ burns. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 
Sair, sair may I repine ; 

For Donald was the brawest lad, 
And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last, 

Sae far to set ns free : 
My Donald's arm was wanted then, 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their waefu' fate what need I tell P — 
Eight to the wrang did yield : 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon Culloden's field. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 
Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 

ISae woman in the warld wide 
Sae wretched now as me. 



MEEEY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE, 

TUXE— "LOED BEEADALBAtfE'S MAECH." 

O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 1 

And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
O merry hae I been cloutin 2 a kettle, 

And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 
O a s the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 

An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
An' a' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, 8 

An' a' the lang night am as happy 's a king. 

Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins, 

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave • ' 
Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linn ens, 

And blythe be the bird that sings on her grav**. 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie ; 

An' come to my arms, and kiss me again ! 
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie ! 

An blest be the day I did it again. 

Aboard irtb sharp steel prongs for dressing hemp. * Repairing. 
s Young girl. 






415 
EATTLIN', BOAKIN' WILLIE. 

TUNE — "BATTLLX', EOAEI2f' WILLIE." 

O eattlin,' roarin Willie, 

O, lie held to the fair, 
An* for to sell his fiddle, 

An' buy some other ware ; 
But parting wi' his fiddle, 

The saut tear blin't his e'e ; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

sell your fiddle sae fine ; 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 
And buy a pint o' wine ! 

If I should sell my fiddle, 

The warl' would think I was mad 

For mony a rantin' day 
My fiddle and I hae had. 

As I cam by Crochallan, 

1 cannily keekit ben — 
Eattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon boar,d en 
Sitting at yon board en', 1 

And amang guid companie ; 
Eattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me I 



O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. 

As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanced to meet ; 
But O the road was very hard 
Eor that fair maiden's tender feet. 
O Maliy's meek, Mally's sweet, 
Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair,, 
Mally's every way complete. 

It were more meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon, 

And 'twere more fit that she should sit - 
Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 
* End. 



416 BURNS. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 

Comes trinkling down her swan-whice neck f 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 
Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 



SAE FAR AWA. 

TUNE — "DALKEITH MAIDEBT BBIDGE." 

O, sad and heavy should I part, 

But for her sake sae far awa ; 
Unknowing what my way may thwart, 

My native land sae far awa. 
Thou that of a' things Maker art, 

That form'd this Fair sae far awa, 
G-ie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 

At this my way sae far awa. 

How true is love to pure desert, 

So love to her, sae far awa : 
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart, 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I fell but hers, sae far awa ; 
But fuirer never touch'd a heart 

Than hers, the Fair sae far awa. 



O, STEEE HER UP. 

YUJCE — " O STEEE HEE UP, AND HAUD HER GAU1T." 

O, steek 2 her up. and haud her gauu- 
Her mother's at the mill, jo ; 

And gin she winna take a man, 
E'en let her take her will, jo : 

First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, 
And ca' another gill, jo, 

And gin she take the thing amiss, 
E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 

Trickling. * 9«*. 



O, WHAEE Dlv YE GET, ETC. 41? 

steer her up, and be na blate, 

An' gin she take it ill, jo, 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate, 

And time nae longer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, 

But think upon it still, jo ; 
Then gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'fl fin' anither will, jo. 






0, WHAEE DID YE GET. 

TUNE — " BONNIE DUNDEE." 

0, WHAEE did ye get that hauver-meal 1 bannock f * 

silly blind body, dinna ye see ? 
I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, 

Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! 

Aft has he doodled me up on his knee ; 
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his babie and me ! 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 

My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie 

Thou's ay be dearer and dearer to me ! 
But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks, 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; 
And I'll deed 2 thee in the tartan sae fine, 

And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 



THE F&TE CHAMP&TEE. 3 

TUNE—" ZILLIECEANZIE." 

O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our errands there, man ? 
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law ? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or him 4 wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major ? 

i Oatmeal. 2 Clothe. 

Given by Mr. Cunningham, of Enterkin, * P^raU* 



4i§ BUES8. 

Come, will ye court a noble lord. 

Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
For worth and honour pawn their word, 

Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man ? 
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 

Anither gies them clatter ; 
Aabank, 1 wha guess'd the ladies' taste, 

He gies a Fete Champetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news 

The gay green- woods amang, man ; 
Where gathering flowers and busking bowers* 

They heard the blackbird's sang, man ; 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss, 

Sir Politics to fetter 
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss, 

To hold a Fete Champetre. 

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing 

O'er hill and dale she new, man ; 
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man : 
She summon'd every social sprite, 

That sports by wood or water, 
On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet, 

And keep this Fete Champetre. 

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, 

Were bound to stakes like kye, man ; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
[Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals through the trees. 

To view this Fete Champetre. 

How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man ! 
To Harmony's enchanting notes, 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood, 

Like Paradise did glitter, 
When angels met, at Adam's yett, 2 

To hold their Fete Champetre. 

1 A place belonging to Mr. Cunningham, and which, after the Scottiab 
•aatom. bestows a name on the Laird. 

* Gate. 



simmer's a pleasant time, etc. 413* 

When Politics came there, to mix 

And make his efcher-stane, 1 man ! 
He circled round the magic ground, 

But entrance found he nane, man : 
He blush'd for shame, he quat 2 his name, 

Foreswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive Pete Champetre. 






SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 

TUNE — "AY WAUKIN O." 

Simmer's a pleasant time, 
Flow'rs of ev'ry colour ; 
The water rins o'er the heugh, 3 
And 1 long for my true lover. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 

When I sleep I dream, 
When I wank I'm eerie ; 

bleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleeping ; 
I think on my bonnie lad, 

And I bleer my een with greetin . 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 
For thinking on my dearie. 



THE BLUDE-RED ROSE AT YULE MAY BLAW. 

TUNE— "TO DAUNTON ME." 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, 
The Simmer lilies bloom in snaw, 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea ; 
But an auld man shall never daunt on me* 

1 Adder-stcne> 2 Quit. » Crag. 

£ £ 9 



^0 BTJKNS. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 

Wi' his fause heart and natt'ring tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

For a* his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
His gear may buy him glens and knowes ; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

He hirples twa-fauld as he dow, 
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, 
And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd e\ 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

TUNE — " IP THOU'LT PLAT ME FAIE PLAY. 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Wore a plaid and was fa' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
His loyal heart was firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
Glory, Honour, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie. 
For freedom and my King to fight, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 



THE COOPER O CTJDDIE, ETC. 421 

The sun a backward course shall take, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Ere aught thy manly courage shake ; 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Go, for yoursel procure renown, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
And for your lawful Xing his crown; 

Bonnie Highland laddie ! 



THE COOPEB O' CTJDDIE. 

TUNE — " BOB AT THE BOWSTEB." 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa, 
And ca'd the girrs out owre us a' — 
And our gude-wife has gotten a ca' 
* That anger'd the silly guid-man, O. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the door ; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
And cover him under a mawn, 1 O. 

He sought them out, he sought them in, 
Wi', Deil hae her ! and, Deil hae him ! 
But the body was sae doited and blin', 2 
He wist na where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at mor^ 
Till our guid-man has gotten the scorn ; 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn, 

And swears that they shall stan', O. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the door ; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door t 

And cover him under a mawn, O. 



NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

The noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are coming o'er the border, 
And they'll gae bigg 3 Terreagle's towers, 

An' set them a' in order, 

basket. * Stupified and blind. 3 Build, 



422 



BUBNS. 

And they declare Terreagle's fair, 
Eor their abode they choose it ; 

There's no a heart in a' the land, 
But's lighter at the news o't. 

Tho' stars in skies may disappear, 

And angry tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather : 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May hae a joyful morrow : 
So dawning day has brought relief- 

Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! 



THE TAILOR. 

TUSE — " THE TAILOB FELL THBO' THE BED, THIMBLES A3f* A* 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a', 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an a', 

The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma' 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'. 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; 

The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still, 

She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 

Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 

Gie me the groat again, canny young man ; 

The day it is short, and the night it is lang, 

The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 

There's some that are dowie, 1 1 trow wad be fair 

To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 



THE TITHEll MORN. 

The tither morn, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow, 

I'd see my jo, 
Beside me, 'gain the gloaming. 

1 Worn with griefc 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBTTRN BRAES. 423 

But he sae trig 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtingly did cheer me, 

When I, what reck, 

Did least expec' 
To see my lad so near me. 

His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, 
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me : 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' fainness grat, 
"While in his grips he press'd mft 

Deil tak' the war ! 

I, late and air, 
Hae wish'd since Jock departed ; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad, 
As short syne broken-hearted. 

Eu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen, 
When a' were blythe and merry, 

I car'd na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

Eut, praise be blest, 

My mind's at rest, 
I'm happy wi' my Johnny : 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se ay be there, 
And be as canty 's ony. 



THE CAELE OF KELLYBUBN BEAES. 

TUNE—" KELLYBUBN BEAES." 

There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And he had a wife was the plague o' his days ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

He met wi' the Devil; says, " How do you fen P" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 



424 BUEN8. 

" I've got a bad wife, sir ; that's a' my complaint, 
(Hey, and the rne grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint ;" 
And the thyme it is wither 'd, and rue is in prime. 

" It's neither your stot 1 nor your staig 2 1 shall crave, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) 

But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have ;" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in primf 

" O welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle said, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

" But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye're ca'd ;" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime, 

The Devil has got the auld wife on his back, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And, like a poor pedler, he's carried his pack ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Syne bade her gae in, for a b — and a w — ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rie is in prime. 

The carlin gaed thro' them Eke ony wud 3 bear, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Whae'er she gat hands on came near her nae mair ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

A reekit 4 wee Devil looks over the wa', 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

" O, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a' ;" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The Devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

He pitied the man that was tied to a wife ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

4 Ox. * Two-year old horse. • Wild, * Smoking. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 425 

The Devil lie swore by the kirk and the bell, 
(Hey. and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in hell ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then Satan has travell'd again wi* his pack, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

And to her auld husband he's carried her back ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

" I hae been a Devil the feck o' my life, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ;." 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 



THEEE WAS A LASS. 

TUNE—" DUNCAN DAVISON." 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 
There was a lad that follow 'd her, 

They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
The m/ >or was dreigh, 1 and Meg was skeigh, 8 

Her favour Duncan could na win ; 
For wi' the roke she wad him knock, 

And ay she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 

A burn was clear, a glen was green, 
Upon the banks they eased their shanks, 

And ay she set the wheel between : 
But Duncan swore a haly aith, 

That Meg should be a bride the morn ; 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith/ 

And flung them a' out o'er the burn. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee house, 

And we will live like King and Queen, 
Sae blythe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en, 
A man may drink and no be drunk ; 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass, 

And ay be welcome back again. 

4 Tedioua. * rroud. » Gear. 



426 



BURNS. 



THE PLOUGHMAN. 

TUNE — " UP Wl' THE PLOUGHMAK"/' 

The plougliman lie's a bonnie lad, 
His mind is ever true, jo, 

His garters knit below his knee, 
His bonnet it is blue, jo. 



CHORUS. 

Then up wi't a', my ploughman lad, 
And hey, my merry ploughman ; 

Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 

He's aften wat and weary ; 
Cast off the wat, put on the dry, 

And gae to bed, my Dearie ! 
Up wi't a', &c. 

I will wash my ploughman's hose, 
And I will dress his o'erlay ; l 

I will mak my ploughman's bed, 
And cheer him late and early. 
Up wi't a', &c. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 
I hae been at Saint Johnston, 

The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 
"Was th' ploughman laddie dancin'. 
Up wi t a', &c. 

Snaw- white stockins on his legs, 
And siller buckles glancin' ; 

A guid blue bannet on his head, 
And O, but he was handsome ! 
Up wi't a', &c. 

Commend me to the barn yard, 

And the corn-mou, man ; 
I never gat my coggie fou 

Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
Up wi't a', &c. 

1 Cravat. 



427 
THE CAELES OF DYSAET. 

TUNE-— "HEY CA' THBOY* 

Up wi* the carles o' Dysart, 

And the lads o' Bnckhaven, 
And the kimmers 1 o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickie ado. 

We hae tales to tell, 

And we hae sangs to sing ; 
We hae pennies to spend, 

And we hae pints to bring. 

We'll live a' onr days, 

And them that come belim', 
Let them do the like, 
And spend the gear they win. 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 

For we hae mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', 
For we hae mickle ado. 



WEAEY FA' YOU, DUNCAN" GEAY. 

TUNE — "DUNCAN GRAY." 

Weaey fa' yon, Dnncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Wae gae by yon, Dnncan Gray— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their play, 
Then I mann sit the lee-lang day, 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae, 

And a' for the girdin o't. 

JBonnie was the Lammas moon— 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 

1 Gossips. 



428 BURNS. 

The girdin brak, tlie beast cam down, 
I tint my curch, 1 and baith my slioon ; 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 
Wae on the bad girdin o't ! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 
The beast again can bear us baith, 
And auld Mess John will mend the skaith, 1 

And clout the bad girdin o't. 



MY HOGGIE.* 



TUFE- 



WHAT WILL I DO GIX ITT HOGGIE DI2. 



What will I do gin my Hoggie die ? 

^y j°y> m y P rid e> my Hoggie ! 
My only beast, I had nae mae, 

And vow but I was vogie ! 4 
The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld, 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; 5 
But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa' 

The blitter frae the boggie, 
The tod 6 reply'd upon the hill, 

I trembled for my Hoggie. 
When day did daw, and cocks did craw, 

The morning it was foggie ; 
An unco tyke 7 lap o'er the dyke, 

And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 



WHERE HAE YE BEEN. 

TUNE — " KILLIECBANKLE." 

Whake hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Whare hae ye been sae brankie, 8 O ? 
O, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? 

Cam ye by feilliecrankie, O ? 

1 Lost the covering for the head. * Damage. 

* The hoggie, alias pet e-ve, was Margaret Brodie, of Coxton, in Banff- 
shire. The song was ta^en ouwn by Burns from the 9inging of an old 
woman in Liddesdale. — Buchan, 

* Vain. s Bushy. 6 Foz. * Dost. 8 Gaudy. 



COCK UP TOXJE BEATER, ETC. 429 

An* ye had been whare I hae been, 

Ye wad na been so cantie, O. ; 
An* ye had seen what I hae seen, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea : 

At hame I fought my auntie, O ; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pit cur fell in a furr, 1 

An' Clavers got a clankie, O ; 
Or I had fed an Athole gled, 2 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

TTTNE — "COCK TIP TOUE BEAVER." 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town, 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown j 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 

Cock up your beaver, 

And cock it fu' sprush, 
We'll over the border 

And gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there 

We'll teach better behaviour — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 



THE HERON BALLADS. 3 

FIEST BALLAD. 

Whom will you send to London town, 

To Parliament and a' that ? 
Or wha in a' the country round 

The best deserves to fa' that ? 

1 Furrow. 2 Hawk. 

1 This is the first of several ballads which Burns wrote to serve Patrick 
Heron, of Kerroughtree, in two elections, in which he was opposed, first uy 
Gordon, of Balmaghie, and secondly by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart.— 
Allan Cunningham. 



430 sr ens. 

For a' that., an' a' that, 
Thro' Galloway and a' that, 
Where is the laird, or belted knight, 
That best deserves to fa' that ? 

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, 

And wha is't never saw that r 
"Wha ever wi' Elerroughtree met, 
And has a doubt of a' that ; 
For a' that, an' a' that.. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ; 
The independent patriot. 
The honest man, an' a' that. 

Tho' wit and worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix, 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that., an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent com m oner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk ? 

And it's against the law that ; 
For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 

Wi' allele's purse an' a' that ; 
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken. an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that ! 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' sold 
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
Our representative to be, 
For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A House of Commons such as he, 
They would be blest that saw that- 



431 

THE ELECTION. 

SECOND BALLAD. 

Ft, let ns a* to Kirkcudbright, 

Eor there will be bickerin' there ; 
Eor Murray's light-horse are to muster, 

And O, how the heroes will swear ! 
An' there will be Murray commander, 

And G-ordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each other, 

Sae knit in alliance an' kin. 

An' there will be black-lippit Johnnie, 

The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
An' he get na hell for his haddin', 

The Deil gets na justice ava' ; 
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie, 

A boy no sae black at the bane. 
But, as for his fine nabob fortune, 

We'll e'en let the subject alane. 

An' there will be Wig ton's new sheriff. 

Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped, 
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 
' But, Lord, wbat's become o' the headf^ 
An' there will be Cardoness, Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 
A wight that will weather damnation, — - 

Eor the Devil the prey will despise. 

An' there will be Douglasses doughty, 

New christ'ning towns far and near ! 
Abjurbig their democrat doings, 

By kissing the o' a peer ; 

An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'roue. 

Whose honour is proof to the storm r— • 
To save them from stark reprobation, 

He lent them his name to the firm. 

But we winna mention Eedcastle, 

The body, e'en let him escape ! 
He'd venture the gallows for siller, 

An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
An' where is our King's lord lieutenant, 

Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return ? 
The billie is gettin' his questions, 

To say in St. Stephen's the mora* 



432 



BUEXS. 



An' tnere will be lads o' the gospel, 

Muirhead, wha's as crude as he's true j 
An' there will be Buittle's apostle, 

Wha's more o' the black than the blue j 
An' there will be folk from St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note. 
The Deil ane but honours them highly, — 

The Deil ane will gie them his vote ! 

An' there will be wealthy young Richard, 

Dame Fortune should hing by the neck ; 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing, 

His merit had won him respec' : 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 

Though nabobs, yet men of the first, 
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers, 

An' Quintin, o' lads not the worst. 

An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie, 

Tak tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

An' there will be gleg Colonel Tarn ; 
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree, 

Whose honour was ever his law ; 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

. An' can we forget the auld major, 

TVha'H ne'er be forgot in the Greys ; 
Our natt'ry we'll keep for some other, 

Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
An' there will be maiden Kiikerran, 

And also Barskimniing's gude knight, 
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 

"Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 

An' there, frae the jSTiddesdale's border, 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves : 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' Walie> 

That griens 1 for the fishes an' loaves ; 
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there, 
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 

Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton. 

An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! 
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 

In Sodom 'twould make him a King; 
1 Longs. 






AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 438 

An* hey for the sanctified Murray, 
Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd ; 

He founder'd his horse among harlots, 
But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 

THIED BALLAD. 

Wha will buy my troggin, 1 

Fine election ware : 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A* in high repair P 

Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There's a noble Earl's 

Fame and high renown, 
For an auld sang — 

It's thought the gudes were stown. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth o' Broughton 

In a needle's e'e ; 
Here's a reputation 

Tint by Balmaghie. 

Buy braw troggin, <fec. 

Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald— 

Sae was never worn. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the stuff and lining, 

O' Cardoness' head; 
Fine for a sodger, 

A' the wale o' lead. 

Buy braw troggin &c. 

Troggin is the merchandise of a travelling hawfctl. 
P F 



6te 



BURNS. 

Here's a little wadset, 
Buittle's scrap o' truth, 

Pawn'd in a gin-shop, 
Quenching holy drouth. 
Buy braw troggin, &c 

Here's armorial bearings 
Frae the manse o' Urr : 

The crest, an auld crab-apple 
Botten at the core. 1 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Satan's picture, 
Like a bizzard gied, 2 

Pouncing poor Bedcastle 
Sprawlin' as a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 
Collieston can boast ; 

By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Murray's fragments 
O' the ten commands ; 

Gifted by black Jock 
To get them aff his hands. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 

If to buy ye're slack, 
Hornie's turnin' chapman. — 

He'll buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw troggin, <fce. 



YE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 



TTTXE- 



SHAW2TBOT.- 



Ys sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 

To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another 

To sit ri that honoured station. 



1 Th j allusion if to X>r, Aluirhead, Minister of Urr. 



2 Hawk. 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME, ETC. 435 

I've little to say, but only to pray, 
As praying's the ton of your fashion ; 

A prayer from the Muse you may well excuse, 
'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, 

Who marked each element's border ; 
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, 

Whose sovereign statute is order ; 
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention 

Or withered envy ne'er enter ; 
May secrecy round be the mystical bound, 

And brotherly love be the centre ! 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 1 

TUNE — "YE JACOBITES BY NAME." 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name, 

Your fautes I will proclaim, 
Your doctrines I maun blame — 
You shall hear. 

What is right and what is wrang, by the law, by the law P 
What is right and what is wrang by the law ? 
What is right and what is wrang ? 
A short sword and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar? 
What makes heroic strife fam'd afar ? 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife, 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bluidie war. 

1 Burns founded this song on some old verses, in which it wss intimated 
that the extinction of the House of Stua.rt was sought for by other weapons 
than the sword. It cannot be denied that if the House of Hanover had the 
affection of the people and the law of the land on their side, the exiled princes 
had the best poetry. This may be accounted for. The romantic adventures 
and daring exploits and deep sufferings of Prince Charles enlisted sympathy 
on his side ; and the minstrels, regarding his fate and that of his brave com- 
panions as furnishing matter for poetry only, sung with a pathos and force 
which will likely be long remembered. — A. C. 

ff2 



436 



BURNS. 



Then let your schemes alone, in the state,, in the state j 
Then let your schemes alone in the state j 
Then let your schemes alone, 
Adore the rising sun, 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



SONG— AH, CHLOE1S. 

TUNE—" MA.TOE GEAHAM." 

Ah, Chloris, since it may na be, 
That thou of love wilt hear ;' 

If from the lover thou maun flee, 
Yet let the friend be dear. 

Altho' I love my Chloris mair 
Than ever tongue could tell ; 

My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll sav I'll wish thee well : 



Tho' a* my daily care thou art, 
And a' my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struggle in my heart, 
And say it is esteem. 



EXTEMPORE ANSWEE TO AN INVITATION, 

The King's most humble servant I, 

Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
But I'll be wi' ye by an' bye ; 

Or else the Deil's be in it. 



My bottle is my holy pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care an' dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An* ye drink it, ye'll find him out. 



i 



437 



KATHAEINE JAFFEAY. 

There liv'd a lass in yonder dale, 
And down in yonder glen, O, 

And Katharine Jaffray was her name* 
Weel known to many men, O. 

Out came the lord of Lauderdale, 
Out frae the south countrie, O, 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
Her bridegroom for to be, O. 

He's tell'd her father and mother baithj, 

As I hear sindry say, O, 
But he has na tell'd the lass hersel, 

Till on her wedding day, O. 

Then cam the Laird o' Lochinton, 
Out frae the English border, 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
All mounted in good order. 



THE COLLIEE LADDIE. 

O whare live ye my bonnie lass, 

And tell me how they ca' ye Y 
My name she says, is Mistress Jean, 

And I follow my Collier laddie. 

see ye not yon hills and dales, 
The sun shines on sae brawl ie : 

They a' are mine, and they shall be thin@. 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier laddie 

And ye shall gang in rich attire, 

Weel buskit up fu' gaudy ; 
And ane to wait at every hand, 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier laddie. 

Tho' ye had a* the sun shines on, 
And the earth conceals sae lowly ; 

1 would turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier laddie. 



438 BTJBNS. 

I can win my fh e pennies in a day, 
And spend it at night fu' brawlie ; 

I can mak my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
And lie down wi' my Collier laddie. 

LuVe for hive is the bargain for me, 

Tho' the wee cot-house should haud me ; 

And the warld before me to win my bread, 
And fare fa* my Collier laddie. 



WHEN I THINK ON THOSE HAPPY DAYS, 

When I think on the happy days 

I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 
And now what lands between us lie, 

How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 



EPPIE M'NAB. 

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab P 
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' the laird : 
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Eab. 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
Whate'er thou has done, be it late, be it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Eab. 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Eab. 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Eab- 



439 



TO CHL01US. 

Behold, my love, how green the groves 

The primrose banks how fair ; 
The balmy gales awake the flow'rs, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 
The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings ; 
For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to Kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string, 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed 

Blythe in the birken shaw. 
The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as lio;ht as ours, 

Beneath the milk white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo ; 
The courtier tells a finer tale, 

But is his heart as true ? 
These wild wood flow'rs I've pu'd to deck 

That spotless breast o' thine ; 
The courtier's gems may witness love, 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



AS' O I MY EPPIE. 

An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair? 
By love, and by beauty, 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair ! 

On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris, she suggested an ide% 
which I, on my return from my visit, wrought into the following song. How 
do you like the sinu>licity and tenderness of this pastoral ?— K, B M ifop., 1784, 



440 EUEKS. 



An' O ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie ! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi 1 Eppie Adair ? 
A' pleasure exile me, 
Dishonour defile me, 
If e'er I beguile thee, 

My Eppie Adair ! 



GFDEE'N TO YOU, KIMMEB. 

Gudee'n to you, Kimmer, 

And how d'ye do ? 
Hiccup, quo' Kimmer, 
The better that I'm fou. 

We're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin, 
We're a' noddin at our house at name. 

Kate sits i' the neuk, 

Suppin hen broo j 1 
Deil tak Kate 

An' she be na noddin too ! 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't, 

And twa pints mair. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

How's a' wi' you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye thrive ; 
How mony bairns hae ye ? 

Quo' Kimmer, I hae ^ve. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh ! atweel na : 
2wa o' them were gotten 

When Johnny was awa. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

Cats like milk, 

And dogs like broo ; 
Lads like lasses weel, 
And lasses lads too. 
We're a' noddin, <&e 
> Broth. 



441 



O WAT YE WHA THAT LO'ES ME. 

TUNE — " MOB AG." 

O wat ye wlia that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a-keeping P 

O sweet is she that lo'es me, 
As dews o' summer weeping, 
In tears the rose-buds steeping : 

that's the lassie o' my heart, 
My lassie, ever dearer ; 

O that's the queen o' woman-kind, 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming ; 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming : 
O that's the lassie, &c. 

If thou hast heard her talking, 
And thy attention's plighted, 

That ilka body talking, 

But her, by thee is slighted, 
And thou art all delighted : 
O that's the lassie, &c. , 

If thou hast met this fair one, — 
When frae her thou hast parted, 

If every other fair one, 

But her, thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted ? 
O that's the lassie, &c. 



O THAT I HAD JSTE'EK BEEN MAKKIED 

O that I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had nae care ; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns, 
An' they cry crowdie 1 ever mair» 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, 

Three times crowdie in a day ; 
Grin ye crowdie ony mair, 

m e'll crowdie a' my meal away. 

1 OatmeaL waW- snd butter. 



442 ETJBNS. 



Waefu' want and hunger fley 1 me, 
Glower in by the hallan en* ; 

Sair I fecht 2 them at the door, 
But ay I'm eerie they come ben* 
Ance crowdie, &c. 



THERE'S KEWS, LASSES. 

There's news, lasses, news, 
Gude news I have to tell, 
There's a boat fu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell. 
The wean wants a cradle, 

And the cradle wants a cod, f 
An' I'll no gang to my bed 
Until I get a nod. 

Facher, quo' she, Mither, quo' shev 

Do what you can, 
I'll nae gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 
The wean, &c. 

I hae as gude a craft rig 
As made o' yird and stane j 

And waly fa' the ley-crap, 
For I maun till't again. 
The wean, &c. 



SCROGGAM. 

These was a wife wonn'cl in Cockpeiv 

Scroggam ; 
She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen, 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever, 

Scroggam ; 
The priest-o' the parish fell in anither ; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 
1 8care. 2 Fought. 



FBAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOTE, ETC. 443 

They laid the twa i' the bed tliegitlier, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither 5 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 



FRAE THE FKIENDS AND LAND I LOVE. 1 

Fbae the friends and land I love, 

Driven by Fortune's felly 2 spite, 
Frae my best belov'd I rove, 

Never mair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun hope to find 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care ; 
When remembrance wracks the mind, 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 

Desert ilka blooming shore, 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe, 

Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
Till Revenge, wi' laurel'd head 

Bring our banished hame again 5 
And ilk loyal, bonnie lad 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 



THE TEARS I SHED.» 

The tears I shed must ever fall ; 

I mourn not for an absent swain, 
For thought may past delights recall, 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead, 

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er, 
And those they lov'd their steps shall tread, 

And death shall join to part no more. 

' Burns, in his notes on the "Musical Museum," says of this song, "laddetf 
the last four lines by way of giving a turn to the theme of the poem such a& 
it is." It has been suggested by his editors, that Burns mended his song a3 
the Highlander mended his gun, by giving to it a new stock, a new lock, and a 
new barrel. 

2 Kelentless. 

3 The first four lines of the last stanza were added by Burns; the song 
being the composition of Miss Cranstoun, afterwards tn8 wife of Dugald 
Stewart. 



444 BTJBN8. 

Tho' boundless oceans roll'd between, 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads each scene, 

Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by Death's cold hand remov'd, 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb, 
To think that even in death he lov'd, 

Can gild the horrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter are the tears 

Of her who slighted love bewails 5 
No hope her dreary prospect cheers, 

JSTo pleasing melancholy hails. 
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, 

Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy: 
The prop, she lean'd on, pierc'd her side ; 

The name, she fed, burns to destroy. 

In vain does memory renew, 

The hours once ting'd in transport's dye j 
The sad reverse soon starts to view, 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Even conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to every feeling due : 
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor, 

To steal a heart, and break it too ! 

No cold approach, no alter'd mien, 

Just what would make suspicion start ; 
"No pause the dire extremes between, 

He made me blest — and broke my heart J 
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn. 

Neglected, and neglecting all, 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, 

The tears I shed must ever fall. 






445 



THE TWA HEEDS/ 

Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor, 

But Fool with Fool is barbarous civil war. — Pop*. 

O a* ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed in pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes ? 2 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, 3 

About the dykes ? 

The twa best herds in a* the wast, 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty simmers past, 

O, dool to tell ! 
Hae had a bitter black out-cast 

At ween themsel. 

O, Moodie, man, and wordy Eussell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how New-light herds will whistle. 

And think it fine ! 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, 

Sin' I ha'e min\ / 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit 

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank, 
N ae poison'd sour Arminian stank 

He let them taste ; 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they drank, — ■ 

O' sic a feast ! 

1 The Twa " Herds" were the minister of Eiccarton, and the assistant- 
minister of Kilmarnock, whose controversial animosity burst out in blows 
during a walk home after a " Sacrament" sermon Burns recorded the teat 
of arms in a " burlesque lamentation," which, as he informs us, with a cer- 
tain description of the clergy, as well as laity, met with a roar of applause. 
Burns gave a copy to a friend, and professed ignorance of the wr'ter. 
54 Dogs 3 Stray sheep and old ewes. 



446 BUBNS. 

The thummart, 1 wil'-cat, brock, and tod,* 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smell'd their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin 



What herd like Russell tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale, 
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

And New-light herds, could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin ; 
Could shake them owre the burning dub,* 

Or heave them in. 



Sic twa — O ! do I live to see't, 

Sic famous twa should disagreet, 

An' names, like " villain," " hypocrite," 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While jN"ew-light herds wi' laughin' spite, 

Say " neither 's lien" ! 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There's Duncan deep, and Peebles shaul, 4 

But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, het and cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset ; 
There's scarce a new herd that we get, 
But comes frae 'niang that cursed set 

I winna name ; 
I hope frae Heaven to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

£ Pole-cat. 2 Badger and fox. 3 Pond. * Sballovr, 






THE TWA HEEDS. 447 

Palrymple lias been lang our fae, 
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae, 
And that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhac, 

And baith the Shaws, 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrow lang has hatch'd mischief, 
"v\ e thought aye death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel whall soundly buff our beef ; l 

I meikle dread him. 

And monie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn- coats amang oursel, 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill, 2 

And that ye'll fin'* 

O ! a' ye flocks, owre a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 

Come join your counsels and your skills, 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the power themsels 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish/ d owre the seas to France ; 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 
M' Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, 

May a' pack aff. 

•Grrre us a severe beating, * Unlit for a pen, 



US BUEXS. 



HOLY MILLIE'S PKAYEK. 1 

Thou., wha In the Heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best tliyseF, 

Sends ane to Heaven, and ten to HelJ, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for onie guid or ill 

They've done afore the** 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night. 
That I am here afore thy sight, 

Eor gifts an' grace, 
A burning an' a shining light, 
To a' this place. 

"What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get such exaltation P 
I, wha deserve such just damnation, 

Eor broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation. 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plung'd me into Hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake, 
Where damned Devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example 

To a' thy nock. 

O L— d, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, 

l Sir Walter Scott regarded Holy Willie's Prayer as " a piece of satire mor€ 
exquisitely severe than any which Burns afterwards wrote." The Poet 
assures us that it alarmed " the "Kirk-Session so much, that they had several 
meetings to look over their spiritual artillery." The hero of the poem was a 
farmer, William Fisher, near Mauchline, said to be very pharisaic and 
hypocritical; one of that class of professors whom Sterne described as 
making every stride look like a check on their desires, Fisher was an elder 
in the kirk, and had offended Burns by his persecution of Mr. Hamilton, 
who thoughtlessly set a beggar to workin his garden on a Sunday morning, 
and was excommunicated in consequence. 



HOLY WILLIE S PRAYEB. 4i£ 

And singin there, and dancing here, 

Wi' great an' sma' i 
For I am keepit by thy fear, 

Free frae them a' 

But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust, 
An' sometimes, too, wi* warldly trust,— 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Denl'd in sin. 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg— 

Tby pardon I sincerely beg, 

O ! m«y it ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour, 
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

Besides I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow ; 

But, L — d, that Friday I was fou, 

When I came near her, 
Or else thou kens thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd he* . 

May be thou lets this fleshly thorn 

Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 

Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy hand maun e'en be borne, 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d, bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
But G — d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 

An' public shame. 

L — d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, 
Yet has sae monie takin arts, 

Wi' great an* sma', 
Frae God's ain priests the people *s hearts 

He steals awn' 
a a 



460 BURNS. 

An' whan we chasten'd him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 1 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes. 

L — d, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r, 

Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, L — d, make it bare, 

Upo' their heads ; 
L — d, weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

O L — d my G- — d, that glib-tongu'd Aiken, 
My very heart and saul are quakin, 
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin, 

An* swat wi' dread, 
While he wi' hingin lips gaed snakin, 

And hid his head. 

L — d, in the day of vengeance try him : 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r : 
But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 

But, L — d, remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane, 
An* a* the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen. 2 



EPITAPH OJN" HOLY WILLIE 

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Taks up its last abode ; 
His saul has taen some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

1 Eiot. 
* Against some passages it has been objected that they breathe a 9pirit of 
Irrehgion. But if we consider the ignorance an4 fanaticism of the lower 
class of people when these poems were written, a fanaticism of that perni- 
cious sor* *rhich sets faith in opposition to good works, the fallacy and danger 
of whic\^ -j, mind so enlightened as our poet's could not but perceive, we shall 
not locr apon his lighter Muse as the enemy of religion, though she has some- 
times been a little unguarded in her ridicule of hypocrisy. — II. Mack<2nzit, — ; 
(The " Lounger," No. 97.) 



ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL. 461 

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun, 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, 

Observe wha's standing wi' him. 

Your brunstane devil ship, I see, 

Has got him there before ye ; 
But haud your nine-tail cat a-wee, 

Till ance you've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gien him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gane. 

J3ut hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, 

Look something to your credit ; 
A coof like him wad stain your name, 

If it were kent ye did it. 



ON SCARING- SOME WATER FOWL IN LOCH-TURIT, A 
WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OCHTERTYRE. 

1 Why, ye tenants of the lake, 

For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave. 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace ; 
Man, your proud, usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

"The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below, 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong Necessity compel* 
eo2 



452 BTTBNS. 

But Man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wandering swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from human haunts and ways. 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right, 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



LINES WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN A LADY'S 
1 POCKET-BOOK. 

Gbant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live, 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give : 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 



EPIGEAM. 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well, 
In respect for the love and affection he'd shown her, 
She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank up the powder. 

But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'rent complexion, 
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction, 
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence, 
Not to show her respect, but — to save the expense. 



453 



ANOTHER. 1 



Whoe'er lie be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The Lord their God, his Grace. 2 

There's naething here but Highland pride, 
And Highland scab and hunger j 

If Providence has sent me here, 
'Twas surely in an anger. 



A TOAST. 8 



Instead of a Song, boys, I'll give you a Toast,— 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost s 
That we lost, did I say ? nay, by Heav'n, that we found $ 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the King, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing ! 
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution. 
And longer with Politics, not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny d — 'd ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial I 



VERSES ADDRESSED TO J. RANKESTE. 

I am a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, although not a', 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither. 
The breaking of ae point, tho' sma*, 

Breaks a' thegither. 

I hae been in for't ance or twice, 
And winna say owre far for thrice, 

1 Written at Inverary. * The Duke of Argyll. 

* Given on occasion of the celebration of the naval victory, April 12, 1782* 



454 BUBN8. 

Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest, 

But now a rumour's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF 
LORD GALLOWAY. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair P 

Flit, Galloway, and find 
Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 



ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all were brave ; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME. 1 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
Thro' many a far-fam'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Eoman way, 
So ended in a mire ! 



TO THE SAME, ON THE AUTHOR BEING THREATENED 
WITH HIS RESENTMENT. 

Spaee me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

Eor thou hast none to give. 

* Thee a were some of the satirical fruits of the Heron contest. 






455 



VEESES TO J. EATCKINE. 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie 1 motley squad, 
And monie a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles 2 in a halter ; 
Asham'd himsel to see the wretches, 

He mutters, glowrin at the b s, 

" By G — I'll not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them, 
Without, at least, ae honest man, 
To grace this d — d infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
" L— G-- !" quoth he, " I have it now, 
There's just the man I want, i' faith," 
And quickly stoppit Eankine's breath. 



EXTEMPORANEOUS EFFUSION, ON BEING APPOINTEL 
TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 

Och, hon ! the day ! 
That clartie 3 barm should stain my laurels ; 

But — what'll ye say ? 
These movin' things, ca'd wives and weans, 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes ! 



ON HEARING THAT THERE WAS FALSEHOOD IN TIIIC 
REY. DR. B 'S VERY LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his look3 

I must and will deny : 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 

1 Confusedly mixed. * Staggers. 8 Dirty 



456 BUBNS. 



POYEETY. 

In politics if tliou wouldst mix, 
And mean thy fortunes be ; 

Bear this in mind, — be deaf and blind, 
Let great folks hear and see. 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER IN CLEISH PARISH, FIFESHIRK. 

Heee lie Willie Michie's banes ; 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the schoolin' o' your weans, 

For clever Deils he'll mak them! 



LINES WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, 
ON SEEING HER IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO. 

Dumfries Theatre, 1794. 

Hemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock with tears had flow'd. 



I mttedee hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 

In wars at name I'll spend my blood, 
Life-giving war to Venus. 

The deities that I adore 

Are social Peace and Plenty, 

I'm better pleased to make one mora* 
Than be the death of twenty. 



457 



LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW, AT THE KING'S ARMS 
TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
"G-ainst poor Excisemen ? give the cause a hearing ; 
What are your landlords* rent-rolls ? taxing ledgers : 
What premiers, what? even Monarch's miehty gaugers: 
JN"ay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men ? 
What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen ? 



LINES WRITTEN ON THE WINDOW OF THE GLOBE 
TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The greybeard, Old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, 

G-ive me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, 

But Eolly has rapures to give. 



LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE 
CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing, 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess : 

True it is, she had one failing, 
Had a woman ever less ? 



EPIGRAM ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATION OF 
MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS. 

O THOir, whom Poetry abhors, 
Whom Prose had turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan ? — proceed no further, 
'Twas laurel'd Martial roaring murder. 



EPITAPH ON A COUNTRY LAIRD, NOT QUITE SO 
WISE AS SOLOMON. 

Bless the Redeemer, O Cardoness, 

With grateful lifted eyes, 
Who said that not the soul alone, 

But body, too, must rise : 



458 



BURNS. 



For had He said, " The soul alone 
From death I will deliver," 

Alas ! alas ! O Cardoness, 

Then thou hadst slept for ever ! 



EPITAPH ON WEE JOHNNY. 1 

Hie jacet wee Johnny. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader know 
That death has murder'd Johnny ! 

An' here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



EPITAPH ON A CELEBEATED EULING ELDER 

Here sowter 2 Hood in Death does sleep ; 

To h — 1, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll haud it weel thegither. 



EPITAPH FOE EOBEET AIKEN, ESQ. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



EPITAPH FOE GAYIN HAMILTON, ESQ, 

The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as he, where'er he be, 
May I be sav'd, or d — 'd ! 

i John Wilson, who printed an edition of Barns' Poems. 
2 Shoemaker. 






459 



EPITAPH ON MY FATHEB. 

O ye, whose cheek the tear of pity stains 
Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend ! 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend ; 

The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human prido j 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side." 



EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 

Hebe lies Johnny Pidgeon ; 

What was his religion ? 

Wha e'er desires to ken, 

To some other warl' 

Maun follow the carl, 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane 1 

Strong ale was ablution, 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was memento mori ; 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul, 
And port was celestial glory. 



EPITAPH ON JOHN BUSHBY, 1 WRITER, IN DUMFRIES, 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man, 
Cheat him, Devil, if you can. 

1 "Went to the churchyard where Burns is buried. A bookseller accom- 
panied us. Went on to visit the grave. 'There,' said the bookseller to us, 
pointing to a pompous monument a few yards off, ' there lies Mr. John 
Bushby, a remarkably clever man ; he was an attorney, and hardly ever lost 
a cause he undertook. Burns made mauy a lampoon upon him, and there 
hey rest, as you see.' " — Memoirs of Wordsworth, i. 214. 



460 BUBtfS. 



A BAED'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim-inspir'd fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate ' to seek, owre proud to snool, 1 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here, heave a sigh. 

Is there a man whose judgment clear,* 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor Inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name ! 

Header, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 

1 Bashful. * Submit tamely, 

t Barns might have remembered Goldsmith's picture of an author:— -A 
ekild of the public he is in all respects; for while he is so able to direct others, 
how incapable is he frequently found of guiding himself ! His simplicity ex- 
poses him to all the insidious approaches of cunning ; his sensibility to the 
slightest invasions of contempt. Though possessed of fortitude to stand un- 
movod the expected bursts of an earthquake, yet of feelings so exquisitely 
poignant, as to agonize under the slightest disappointment. — The Fres&tS 
State of Polite Learning^ chapter X. 



GLOSSARY. 



The ch and gh have always the guttural sound. The sound of the 
English diphthong oo, is commonly spelled ou. The French w, a 
sound which often occurs in tne Scottish language, is marked oo, 
or id. The a in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a 
diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds 
generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong 
ce, always, and ea, very often, sound like the French e masculine. 
The Scottish diphthong ey, sounds like the Latin ei. 



A% ak 

Aback, away, aloof 

Abeigh, at a shy distance 

Aboon, above, up 

Abread, abroad, in sight 

Abreed, in breadth 

Addle, putrid water, &c. 

Ae, one 

Aff, off; Aff loof, unpremeditated 

Afore, before 

Aft, oft 

Aften, often 

Agley, off the right line ; wrong 

Aiblins, perhaps 

Ain, own 

Airle-penny,Airles, earnest money 

Aim, iron 

Aith, an oath 

Aits, oats 

Aiver, an old horse 

Aizle, a hot cinder 

Alake, alas 

Alane, alone 

Akwart, awkward 

Amaist, almost 

Amang, among 

An', and ; if 

Ance, once 

Ane, one ; and 

Anent, over against 

Anither, another 

Ase, ashes 

Asklent, asquint; aslant 

Asteer, abroad ; stirring 

A.thart, athwart 



Aught, possesion ; as, In &' my 
aught, in all my possession 

Auld lang syne, olden time, days 
of other years 

Auld, old 

Auldfarran, or, auld farrant, sa- 
gacious, cunning, prudent 

Ava, at all 

Awa\ away 

Awfu', awful 

Awn, the beard of barley, oats, &a 

Awnie, bearded 

Ayont, beyond 

BA\ Ball 

Backets, ash boards 

Backlins, coming; coming back 

returning 
Back, returning 
Bad, did bid 
Baide, endured, did stay 
Baggie, the belly 
Bainie, having large bones, stj 
Bairn, a child 
Bairntime, a family of children, 

a brood 
Baith, both 
Ban, to swear 
Bane, bone 

Bang, to beat ; to strive 
Bardie, diminutive of bard 
Barefit, barefooted 
Barmie, of, or like barm 
Batch, a crew, a gang 
Batts, bots 



462 



GL0SSA3Y. 



Baudrons, a cat 

Bauld, bold 

Bawk, bank 

Baws'nt, having a white stripe 

down the face 
Be, to let be; to give over; to 

cease 
Bear, barley 

Beastie. diminutive of beast 
Beer, to add fuel to fire 
Beld, bald 
Belyve, by and by 
Ben, into the spence or parlour; 

a spence 
Benlomond, a noted mountain in 

Dumbartonshire 
Bethankit, grace after meat 
Beuk, a book 
Bicker, a kind of wooden dish ; 

a short race 
Bie, or Bield, shelter 
Bien, wealthy, plentiful 
Big, to build 

Biggin, building-, a house 
Biggit, built 
Bill, a bull 

Billie, a brother ; a young fellow 
Bing, a heap of grain, potatoes, &c. 
Birk, birch 
Birken-shaw, Birchen-wood -shaw, 

a small wood. 
Birkie, a clever fellow 
Birring, the noise of partridges, 

&c, when they spring 
Bit, crisis, nick of time 
Bizz, a bustle, to buzz 
Blastie, a shrivelled dwarf; a 

term of contempt 
Blastit, blasted ' 
Blate, bashful, sheepish 
Blather, bladder 
Bladd, a flat piece of anything ; 

to slap 
Blaw, to blow, to boast 
Bleerit, bleared, sore with rheum 
Bleert and blin', bleared and blind 
Bleezing, blazing 
Blellum, an idle talking fellow 
Blether, to talk idly ; nonsense 
Bletlrrin', talking idly 
Blink, a little while ; a smiling 
look ; to look kindly : to shine 
by fits 
Blinker, a term of contempt 
Blinkin, smirking 
Blue-gown, one of those beggars 



who get annually, on the King'g 
birth-day, a blue cloak or gown, 
with a badge 
Bluid, blood 
Bluntie, a sniveller, a stupid per- 
son 
Blype, a shred, a large piece 
Bock, to vomit, to gush inter- 
mittently 

Bocked, gushed, vomited 

Bodle, a small gold coin 

Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins 

Bonnie or bonny, handsome, beau- 
tiful 

Bonnock, a kind of thick cake of 
bread, a small jannock, or loaf 
made of oatmeal 

Boord, a board 

Boortree, the shrub elder ; plant- 
ed much of old in hedges of 
barn-yards, &c. 

Boost, behaved, must needs 

Bore, a hole in the wall 

Botch, an angry tumour 

Bousing, drinking 

Bow-kail, cabbage 

Bowt, bended, crooked 

Brackens, fern 

Brae, a declivity; a precipice: 
the slope of a hill 

Braid, broad 

Braindg't, reeled forward 

Braik, a kind of harrow 

Braindge, to run rashly forward 

Brak, broke, made insolvent 
. Branks, a kind of wooden curb 
for horses 

Brash, a sudden illness 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c 

Brattle, a short race ; hurry ; 
fury 

Braw, fine, handsome 

Brawly, or brawlie, very well ; 
finely; heartily 

Braxie, a morbid sheep 

Breastie, diminutive of brea«t 

Breastit, did spring up or forward 

Breckan, fern 

Breef, an invulnerable or irresis- 
tible spell 

Breeks, breeches 

Brent, smooth 

Brewin', brewing 

Brie, juice, liquid 

Brig, a bridge 

Brunstane, brimstone 






GLOSSAET. 



463 



Brisket, the breast, the bosom 

Brither, a brother 

Brock, a badger 

Brogue, a hum ; a trick 

Broo, broth ; a trick 

Broose, broth ; a race at country 
weddings, who shall first reach 
the bridegroom's house on re- 
turning from church 

Browster-wives, ale-house wives 

Brugh, a burgh 

Bruilzie, a broil, a combustion 

Brunt, did burn, burnt 

Brust, to burst ; burst 

Buchan-bullers, the boiling of the 
sea among the rocks of Buchan 

Buckskin, an inhabitant of Vir- 
ginia 

Bught, a pen 

Bughtin-time, the time of collect- 
ing the sheep in the pens to be 
milked 

Buirdly, stout made ; broad made 

Bum-clock, a humming beetle 
that flies in the summer even- 
ings 

Bumming, humming as bees 

Bummle, to blunder 

Bummler, a blunderer 

Bunker, a window-seat 

Burdies, diminutive of birds 

Bure, did bear 

Burn, water, a rivulet 

Burnewin; i.e., burn the wind, a 
blacksmith 

Burnie, diminutive of burn 

Buskie, bushy 

Buskit, dressed 

Busks, dresses 

Bussle, a bustle ; to bustle 

Buss, shelter 

But, bot, with ; without 

But an' ben, the country kitchen 
and parlour 

By himsel, lunatic, distracted 

Byke, a bee-hive 

Byre, a cow-stable ; a sheep-pen 

£A\ to call, to name , to drive 
Ca't, or ca'd, called, driven ; 

calved 
Cadger, a carrier 
Cadie, or Caddie, a person ; a 

young fellow 
Caff, chaff 
Caird, a tinker 



Cairn, a loose heap of stones 
Calf-ward, a small enclosure for 

calves 
Callan, a boy 

Caller, fresh ; sound ; refreshing 
Canie, or cannie, gentle, mild; 

dexterous 
Cannilie, dexterously ; gently 
Cantie, or canty, cheerful, merry 
Cantraip, a charm, a spell 
Cape-stane, cope-stone; key-stone 
Careerin, cheerfully 
Carl, an old man 
Carlin, an old stout woman 
Cartes, cards 
Caudron, a cauldron 
Caulk and keel, chalk and red 

clay 
Cauld, cold 

Caup, a wooden drinking-vessel 
Cesses, taxes 

Chanter, a part of a bagpipe 
Chap, a person, a fellow ; a blow 
Chaup, a stroke, a blow 
Cheekit, checked 
Cheep, a chirp ; to chirp 
Chiel, or cheel, a young fellow 
Chimla, or chimlie, a fire-grate, a 

fire-place 
Chimla-lug, the fireside 
Chittering, shivering, trembling 
Chockin, choking 
Chow, to chew : Cheek for chow, 

side by side 
Chuffie, fat-faced 
Clachan, a small village about fe 

church ; a hamlet 
Claise, or claes, clothes 
Claith, cloth 
Claithing, clothing 
Claivers, nonsense ; not speaking 

sense 
Clap, clapper of a mill 
Clarkit, wrote 
Clash, an idle tale, the story of 

the day 
Clatter, to tell idle stories ; an idle 

story 
Claught, snatched at, laid hold of 
Claut, to clean ; to scrape 
Clauted, scraped 
Clavers, idle stories 
Claw, to scratch 
Cleed, to clothe 
Cleeds, clothes 
Cleekit, having caught 



464 



GLOSSARY. 



Clinkin. jerking ; clinking 

Clinkumbell, he who rings the 
church- bell 

Clips, shears 

Clishmaclaver, idle conversation 

Clock, to hatch ; a beetle 

Clockin, hatching 

Cloot, the hoof of acow.sheep, &c. 

Clootie, an old name for the Devil 

Clour, a bump or swelling after a 
blow 

Clods, clouds 

Coaxin, wheedling 

Coble, a fishing boat 

Cockernony, a lock of hair tied 
upon a girl's head; a cap 

Coft, bought 

Cog. a woodeu dish 

Coggie, diminutive of cog 

Coila, from Kyle, a district of 
Ayrshire ; so called, saith tra- 
dition, from Coil, or Coilus, a 
Pictish monarch 

Collie, a general and sometimes a 
particular name for country curs 

Collie shangie, quarrelling, an up- 
roar 

Commaun, command 

Cood. the cud 

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cookit, appeared and disappeared 
by fits 

Coost. did cast 

Coot, the ancle or foot 

Cootie, a wooden kitchen dish : — 
also, those fowls whose legs are 
clad with feathers are said to be 
cootie 

Corbies, a species of the crow 

Core, corps ; party; clan 

Corn't. fed with oats 

Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot- 
house, or cottager 

Couthie, kind, loving 

Cove, a cave 

Cowe. to terrify ; to keep under, 
to lop ; fright ; a branch of furze, 
broom. &c. 
Cowp. to barter; to tumble over ; 

a gang 
Cowpit, tumbled 
Co wrin, cowering 
Cowt, a colt 
Cozie. snug 
Cozily. snugly 
Crabbit, crabbed, fretfti 



Crack, conversation ; to converse 

Crackin, conversing 

Craft, or croft, a field near a bouse 
(in old husbandry) 

Craiks. cries or calls incessantly ; 
a bird 

Crambo-clink, or crambo-jingle, 
rhymes, doggrel verses 

Crank, the noise of an ungreased 
wheel 

Crankous, fretful, captious 

Cranreuch, the hoar frost 

Crap, a crop ; to crop 

Craw, a crow of a cock ; a rook 

Creel, a basket; to have one's 
wits in a creel, to be crazed ; to 
be fascinated 

Creepie-stool, the same as cutty- 
stool 

Creeshie, greasy 

Crood, or croud, to coo as a dovi 

Croon, a hollow and continue** 
moan ; to make a noise like the 
continued roar of a bull ; to hum 
a tune 

Crooning, humming 

Crouchie, crook-backed 

Croose, cheerful ; courageous 

Crousely, cheerfully; courageously 

Crowdie, a composition of oat- 
meal and boiled water, some- 
times from the broth of bee£ 
mutton, &c. 

Crowdie-time, breakfast-time 

Crowlin, crawling 

Crummock, a cow with crooked 
horns 

Crump, hard and brittle ; spoken 
of bread 

Crunt. a blow on the head with a 
cudgel 

Cu:f, a blockhead, a ninny 

Cummock, a short staff with a 
crooked head 

Curchie, a courtesy 

Curler, a player at a game on the 
ice. practised in Scotland, called 
curling 

Curlie, curled, whose hair falls na- 
turally in ringlets 

Curling, a well known game on 
the ice 

Curmurring, murmuring ; a slight 
rumbling noise 

Curpin, the crupper 

Cuahat, the dove, or wf od-pigeon 



GLOSSARY. 



465 



Cutty, short ; a spoon broken in 

the middle 
Cutty-stool, the stool of repentance 

DADDIE, a father 

Damn, merriment ; foolishness 

Daft, merry, giddy ; foolish 

Daimen, rare, now and then ; 
daimen-icker, an ear of corn 
now and then 

Dainty, pleasant, good humoured, 
agreeable 

Daise, daez, to stupify 

Dales, plains, valleys 

Darklins, darkling 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse 

Daur, to dare 

Daurt, dared 

Daurg, or daurk, a day's labour 

Davoc, David 

Dawd, a large piece 

Da\vtit,ordawtet,fondled,caressed 

Dearies, diminutive of dears 

Dearthfu', dear 

Deave, to deafen 

Deil-ma-care I no matter ! for all 
that! 

Deleerit, delirious 

Descrive, to describe 

Dight, to wipe; to clean corn 
from chaff 

Dight, cleaned from chaff. 

Ding, to worst, to push 

Dink, neat, tidy, trim 

Dinna, do not 

Dirl, a slight tremulous stroke or 
pain 

Dizen, or dizz^, a dozen 

Doited, stupified, hebetated 

Dolt, stupified, crazed 

Donsie, unlucky 

Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool, to la- 
ment, to mourn 

Doos, doves 

Dorty, saucy, nice 

Douce, or douse, sober, wise, pru- 
dent 

Doucely, soberly, prudently 
Dought, was or were able 
Doup, backside 
Doup-skelper, one that strikes the 

tail 
Dour and din, sullen and sallow 
Doure, stout, durable; sullen, 

stubborn 
Dow. am or are able, can 



Dowff, pithless, wanting force 
Dowie, worn with grief, fatigue, 

&c, half asleep 
Down a, am or are not able, cannot 
Doylt, stupid 

Dozent, stupified, impotent 
Drap, a drop ; to drop 
Draigle, to soil by trailing, to 

draggle among wet, &c. 
Drapping, dropping 
Draunting, drawling; of a slow 

enunciation 
Dreep, to ooze, to drop 
Dreigh, tedious, long about it 
Dribble, drizzling ; slaver 
Drift, a drove 
Droddum, the breech 
Drone, part of a bagpipe 
Droop-rumpl't, that droops at ths 

crupper 
Droukit, wet 
Drounting, drawling 
Drouth, thirst, drought 
Drucken, drunken 
Drumly, muddy 
Drummock, meal and water mixed 

in a raw state 
Drunt, pet, sour humour 
Dub, a small pond 
Duds, rags, clothes 
Duddie, ragged 

Dung, worsted ; pushed, driven 
Dunted, beaten, boxed 
Dush, to push as a ram, &c. 
Dusht, pushed by a ram, ox, &c. 

E'E, the eye 

Een, the eyes 

E'ening, evening 

Eerie, frighted, dreading spirits 

Eild, old age 

Elbuck, the elbow 

Eldritch, ghastly, frightful 

Eller, an elder, or church officer 

En', end 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh 

Eneugh, enough 

Especial, especially 

Ettle, to try, to attemp 

Eydent, diligent 

FA', fall ; lot ; to fall 
Fa's, does fall ; watei-faUs 
Faddom't, fathomed 
Fae, a foe 
Faem, foam 



H H 



466 



GLOSSARY. 






Faiket, unknown 

Fairin, a fairing ; a present 

Fallow, fellow 

Fand, did find 

Farl, a cake of oaten bread, &c. 

Fash, trouble, care ; to trouble, to 

care for 
Fasht, troubled 
Fasteren-e'en, Fasten's Even 
Fauld, a fold ; to fold 
Faulding, folding 
Faut, fault 
Faute, want, lack 
Fawsont, decent, seemly 
Feal, a field ; smooth 
FearfV, frightful 
Feart, frighted 
Feat, neat, spruce 
Fecht, to fight 
Fechtin, fighting 
Feck, many, plenty 
Fecket, an under waistcoat with 

sleeves 
Feckfu', large, brawny, stout 
Feckless, puny, weak, silly 
Feckly, weakly 
Feg, a fig 

Feide, feud, enmity 
Fwirrie, stout, vigorous, healthy 
Fell, keen, biting ; the flesh imme- 
diately under the skin ; a field 

pretty level, on the side or top 

of a hill 
Fen, successful struggle ? fight 
Fend, to live comfortably 
Ferlie, or ferley, to wonder; a 

wonder ; a term of contempt 
Fetch, to pull by fits 
Fetch'd, pulled intermittently 
Fidge, to fidget 
Fiel, soft, smooth 
Fient, fiend, a petty oath 
Fier, sound, healthy ; a brother ; 

a friend 
Fissle, to make a rustling noise ; 

to fidget ; a bustle 
.Fit, a foot 
Fittie-lan', the nearer horse of the 

hindmost pair in the plough 
¥ izz, to make a hissing noise, like 

fermentation 
Flainen, flannel 
Fleech, to supplicate in a flaUer- 

ing manner 
Fieech'd, supplicated 
Fleechin, supplicating 



Fleesh, a fleece 

Fleg, a kick, a random stroke 

Flether, to decoy by fair words 

Fletherin, flattering 

Fley, to scare, to frighten 

Flichter, to flutter, as young 
nestlings when their dam ap- 
proaches 

Flinders, shreds, broken pieces, 
splinters 

Flinging-tree, a piece of timber 
hung by way of partition be- 
tween two horses in a stable ; 
a flail 

Flisk, to fret at the yoke 

Flisket, fretted 

Flitter, to vibrate like the wings 
of small birds 

Flittering, fluttering, vibrating 

Flunkie, a servant in livery 

Fodgel, squat and plump 

Foord, a ford 

Forbears, forefathers 

Forbye, besides 

Forfairn, distressed ; worn out, 
jaded 

Forfoughten, fatigued 

Forgather, to meet, to encounter 
with 

Forgie, to forgive 

Forjesket, jaded with fatigue 

Fother, fodder 

Fou, full ; drunk 

Foughten, troubled, harassed 

Fouth, plenty, enough, or more 
than enough 

Fow, a bushel, &c. ; also a pitch 
fork 

Frae, from ; off 

Frammit, strange. estranged from, 
at enmity with 

Fraeth, froth 

Frien', friend 

Fu', full 

Fud, the scut, or tail of the hare 
cony, &c. 

Fuff, to blow intermittently 

Fuff't, did blow 

Funnie, full of merriment 

Fur, a furrow 

Furm, a form, bench 

Fyke, trifling cares ; to piddle, to 
be in a fuss about trifles 

Fyle, to soil, dirty 

Fyl't, soiled, dirtie4 



GLOSSARY. 



487 



GAB, the mouth ; to speak boldly, 
or pertly 

Gaberlunzie, an old man 

Gadsman, a ploughboy, the boy 
that drives the horses in the 
plough 

Gae, to go ; gaed, went ; gaen, or 
gane, gone ; gaun, going 

Gaet, or gate, way, manner; road 

Gairs, triangular pieces of cloth 
sewed on the bottom of a gown, 
&c. 

Gang, to go, to walk 

Gar, to make, to force to 

Gar't, forced to 

Garten, a garter 

Gash, wise, sagacious ; talkative ; 
to converse 

Gashin, conversing 

Gaucy, jolly, large 

Gaud, a plough 

Gear, riches ; goods of any kind 
, Geek, to toss the head in wanton- 
ness or scorn 

Ged. a pike 

Gentles, great folks, gentry 

Genty, elegantly formed, neat 

Geordie, a guinea 

Get, a child, a young one 

Ghaist, a ghost 

Gie, to give; gied, gave; gien, 
given 

Giftie, diminutive of gift 

Giglets, playful girls 

Gillie, diminutive of gill 

Gilpey, a half grown, half in- 
formed boy or girl, a romping 
lad, a hoiden 

Gimmer, a ewe from one to two 
years old 

Gin, if; against 

Gipsy, a young girl 

Girn, to grin, to twist the features 
in rage, agony, &c. 

Girning, grinning 

Gizz, a periwig 

Glaiket, inattentive, foolish 

Glaive, a sword 

Gawky, half-witted, foolish, romp- 
ing 

Glaizie, glittering; smooth like 
glass 

Glaum, to snatch greedily 

Glaum'd, aimed, snatched 

Gleck, sharp, ready 

Gleg, sharp, ready 

HI1 



Gleib, glebe 

Glen, a dale, a deep valley 

Gley, a squint ; to squint ; a-gley, 

off at side, wrong 
Glib-gabbet, smooth and ready in 

speech 
Glint, to peep 
Glinted, peeped 
Glintin, peeping 
Gloamin, the twilight 
Glowr, to stare, to look ; a stare, 

a look 
Glowred, looked, stared 
Glunsh, a frown, a sour look 
Goavan, looking round with a 

strange, inquiring gaze; star- 
ing stupidly 
Go wan, the flower of the wild 

daisy, hawkweed, &c. 
Gowany, daisied, abounding with 

daisies 
Gowd, gold 
Gowff, the game of golf ; to strika 

as the bat does the ball at 

golf 
Gowff'd, struck 

Gowk, a cuckoo ; a term of con- 
tempt 
Gowl, to howl 

Grane, or grain, a groan ; to groan 
Grain'd and grunted, groaned and 

grunted 
Graining, groaning 
Graip, a pronged instrument for 

cleaning stables 
Graith, accoutrements, furniture, 

dress, gear 
Grannie, grandmother 
Grape, to grope 
Graipit, groped 
Grat, wept, shed tears 
Great, intimate, familiar 
Gree, to agree ; to bear the gre-e, 

to be decidedly victor 
Gree't, agreed 

Greet, to shed tears, to weep 
Greetin, crying, weeping 
Grippet, catched, seized 
Groat, to get the whistle of one's 

great, to play a losing game 
Grousome, loathsomely grim 
Grozet, a gooseberry 
Grumph, a grunt ; to grunt 
Grumphie, a sow 
Grun', ground 
Grunstane, a grindstone 

2 



468 



GLOSSARY. 



Gruntle, the phiz ; a grunting 
noise 

Grunzie, mouth 

Grushie, thick ; of thriving growth 

Gude, the Supreme Being; good 

Guid, good 

Guid-morning, good morrow 

Guid-e'en, good evening 

Guidman and guid wife, the mas- 
ter and mistress of the house ; 
young guidman, a man newly 
married 

ifuid-willie, liberal ; cordial 

Guidfather, guidmother, father- 
in-law and mother-in-law 

Gully, or gullie, a large knife 

Gumlie, muddy 

Gusty, tasteful 

HA', hall 

Ha'-Bible, the great bible that 
lies in the hall 

Hae, to have 

Haen, had, the participle 

Haet, fient haet, a petty oath of 
negation ; nothing 

Haffet, the temple, the side of the 
head 

Hafflins, nearly half, partly 

Hag, a scar, or gulf in mosses and 
moors 

Haggis, a kind of pudding boiled 
in the stomach of a cow or 
sheep 

Hain, to spare, to save 

Hain'd, spared 

Hairst, harvest 

Haith, a petty oath 

Haivers, nonsense, speaking with- 
out thought 

Hal', or hald, an abiding place 

Hale, whcle, tight, healthy 

Haly, holy 

Hallun, a particular partition- 
wall in a cottage, or more pro- 
perly a seat of turf at the out- 
side 

Hallowmass, Hallow-eve, the 31st 
of October 

Hame, home 

Hamely, homely, affable 

Han', or haun\ hand 

Hap, an outer garment, mantle, 
plaid. &c, to wrap, to cover; 
to hop 

Happer, a hopner 



Happing, hopping 

Hap step an' ioup, hop skip a 
leap 

Harkit, hearkened 

Harn, very coarse linen 

Hash, a fellow that neither knows 
how to dress nor act with pro- 
priety 

Hastie, dry ; chapped ; barren 

Hastit, hastened 

Haud, to hold 

Haughs, low lying, rich lanag; 
valleys 

Haurl, to drag, to peel 

Haurlin, peeling 

Haverel, a half-witted person ; 
half-witted 

Havins, good manners, decorum, 
good sense 

Hawkie, a cow, properly one with 
a white face 

Heapit, heaped 

Healsome, healthful, wholesome 

Hearse, hoarse 

Hear't, hear it 

Heather, heath 

Hech ! oh ! strange ! 

Hecht, promised ; ' to forel 
something that is to be got or 
given ; foretold ; the thing fore- 
told ; offered 

Heckle, a board in which are fixed 
a number of sharp pins, used in 
dressing hemp, flax, &c. 

Heeze, to elevate, to raise 

Helm, the rudder or helm 

Herd, to tend flocks ; one who 
tends flocks 

Herrin, a herring 

Herry, to plunder ; most properly 
to plunder birds' nests 

Herryment, plundering, devasta- 
tion 

Hersel, herself; also a berd of 
cattle of any sort 

Het, hot 

Heugh, a craig, a coalpit 

Hilch, a hobble ; to halt 

Hilchin, halting 

Himsel, himself 

Hiney, honey 

Hing, to hang 

Hirple, to walk crazily, to creep 

Hissel, so many cattle as one per- 
son can attend 

Hitch, a loop, a kuDt 



GLOSSARY. 



469 



Hizzie, a hussy, a young girl 

Hoddin, the motion of a sage 
countryman riding on a cart- 
horse; humble 

Hog-score, a kind of distance- 
line, in curling, drawn across 
the rink 

Hog-shouther, a kind of horse- 
play, by justling with the 
shoulder; tojustle 

Hool, outer skin or case, a nut- 
shell ; a peascod 

Hoolie, slowly, leisurely 

Hoolie I take leisure, stop 

Hoord, a hoard ; to hoard 

Hoordit, hoarded 

Horn, a spoon made of horn 

Hornie, one of the many names 
of the devil 

Host, or hoast, to cough ; a cough 

Hostin, coughing 

Hosts, coughs 

Hotch'd, turned topsyturvy ; 
blended, mixed 

Houghmagandie, fornication 

Houlet, an owl 

Housie, diminutive of a house 

Hove, to heave, to swell 

Hoved, heaved, swelled 

Howdie, a midwife 

Howe, hollow ; a hollow or dell 

Howebackit, sunk in the back, 
spoken of a horse, &c 

Howff, a tippling house ; a house of 
resort 

Howk, to dig 

Howkit, digged 

Howkin, digging 

Howlet, an owl 

Hoy, to urge 

Hoy't, urged 

Hoyse, to pull upwards 

Hoyte, to amble crazily 

Hughoc, diminutive of Hugh 

Hurcheon, a hedgehog 

Hurdies, the loins ; the crupper 

Hushion, a cushion 

I'.in 

Icker, an ear of corn 

Ier-oe, a great grandchild 

Ilk, or ilka, each, every 

Ill-willie, ill-natured, malicious, 

niggardly 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity 
Ingle, fire ; fire-place 



Ise, I shall or will 

Iiher, other ; one another 

JAD,jade; also a familiar term 

among countryfolks for a giddy 

young girl 
Jauk, to dally, to trifle 
Jaukin, trifling, dallying 
Jaup, a jerk of water ; to jerk a* 

agitated water 
Jaw, coarse raillery ; to pour out ; 

to shut, to jerk as water 
Jerkinet, a jerkin, or short gown 
Jillet, a jilt, a giddy girl 
Jimp, to jump ; slender in tlv 

waist; handsome 
Jimps, easy stays 
Jink, to dodge, to turn a corner ; 

a sudden turning ; a corner 
Jinker, that turns quickly ; a 

gay sprightly girl ; a wag 
Jinkin, dodging 
Jirk, a jerk 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife 
Jouk, to stoop, to bow the head 
Jow, to jow, a verb which includes 

both the swinging motion and 

pealing sound of a large bell 
Jundie, to justle 

KAE, a daw 

Kail, colewort ; a kind of broth 
Kail-runt, the stem of colewort 
Kain, fowls, &c, paid as rent by a 

farmer 
Kebbuck, a cheese 
Keckle, to giggle ; to titter 
Keek, a peep, to peep 
Kelpies, a sort of mischievous 

spirits, said to haunt fords and 

ferries at night, especially in 

storms 
Ken, to know; kend or kenn'd, 

knew 
Kennin, a small matter 
Kenspeckle, well known, easiiy 

known 
Ket, matted, hairy; a fleece of 

wool 
Kilt, to truss up the clothes 
Kimmer, a young girl, a gossip 
Kin, kindred ; kin', kind, adj. 
King's-hood, a certain part of the 

entrails of an ox, &c. 
Kintra, country 
Kintra cooser, country stalliOTV 



470 



GLOSSARY. 



Kirn, the harvest-supper; a churn 
Kirsen, to christen, or baptize 
Kist, a chest ; a shop counter 
Kitchen, any thing that eats with 

bread ; to serve for soup, 

gravy, &c. 
Kith, kindred 
Kittle, to tickle; ticklish; lively, 

apt 
Kittlin, a young cat 
Kiuttle, to cuddle 
Kiuttlin, cuddling 
Knaggie, like knags, or points of 

rocks 
Knap, to strike smartly ; a smart 

blow 
Knappin-hammer, a hammer for 

breaking stones 
Knowe, a small round hillock 
Knurl, a dwarf 
Kye, cows 

Kyle, a district in Ayrshire 
Kyte, the belly 
Kythe, to discover ; to show one's 

self 

LADDIE, diminutive of lad 
Laggen, the angle between the 

side and bottom of a wooden 

dish 
Laigh,low 
Lairing, wadmg, and sinking in 

snow, mud, &c. 
Laith, loath 

Laithfu', bashful, sheepish 
Lallans, the Scottish dialect of the 

English language 
Lambie, diminutive cf lamb 
Lampit, a kind of shell-fish, a 

limpet 
Lan\ land ; estate 
Lane, lone ; my lane, thy lane, 

&c, myself alone, &c. 
Lanely, lonely 
Lang, long; to think lang, to 

long, to weary 
Lap, did leap 
Lave, the rest, the remainder, the 

others 
Laverock, the lark 
Lawin, shot, reckoning, bill 
Lawlan, lowland 
Lea'e, to leave 
Leal, loyal, true, faithful 
Lea-rig, grassy ridge 
Lear (pronounced lare), learning 



Lee-lang, live-long 
Leesome, pleasant 
Leeze-me, a phrase of congratula* 

tory endearment ; I am happy 

in thee, or proud of thee 
Leister, a three-pronged dart for 

striking fish 
Leugh, did laugh 
Leuk, a look ; to look 
Libbet, gelded 
Lift, the sky 

Lightly, sneeringly ; to sneer at 
Lilt, a ballad ; a tune ; to sing 
Limmer, a kept mistress, a 

strumpet 
Limp't, limped, hobbled 
Link, to trip along 
Linkin, tripping 
Linn, a waterfall ; a precipice 
Lint, flax ; Lint i' the bell, fiax in 

flower 
Lintwhite, a linnet 
Loan, or loanin, the place of 

milking 
Loof, the palm of the hand 
Loot, did let 
Looves, plural of loof 
Loun, a fellow, a ragamuffin; a 

woman of easy virtue 
Loup, jump, leap 
Lowe, a flame 
Lowin, flaming 

Lowrie, abbreviation of Lawrence 
Lowse, to loose 
Lows'd, loosed 
Lug, the ear ; a handle 
Lugget, having a handle 
Luggie, a small wooden dish with 

a handle 
Lum, the chimney 
Lunch, a large piece of cheese, 

flesh, &c. 
Lunt, a column of smoke ; to 

smoke 
Luntin, smoking 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, grey 

MAE, more 

Mair, more 
Maist, most, almost 
Maistly, mostly 
Mak, to make 
M akin, making 
Mail en, a farm 
Mallie, Molly 
Mang, among 



GLOSSARY. 



471 



M" anse, the parsonage house, where 
the minister lives 

Manteele, a mantle 

Mark, marks. (This and several 
other nouns which in English 
require an s to form the plural, 
are in Scotch, like the words 
sheep, deer, the same in both 
numbers) 

Marled, variegated ; spotted 

Mar's year, the year 1715 

Mashlum, meslin, mixed corn 

Mask, to mash, as malt, &c. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 

Maud, maad, a plaid woru by 
shepherds, &c. 

Maukin, a hare 

Maun, must 

Mavis, the thrush 

Maw, to mow 

Mawin, mowing 

Meere, a mare 

Meikle, meickle, much 

Melancholious, mournful 

Melder, corn, or grain of any 
kind, sent to the mill to be 
ground 

Mell, to meddle. Also a mallet 
for pounding barley in a stone 
trough 

Mel vie, to soil with meal 

Men', to mend 

Mense, good manners, decorum 

Menseless, ill-bred, rude, impudent 

Messin, a small dog 

Midden, a dunghill 

Midden-hole, a gutter at the bot- 
tom of a dunghill 

Mim. prim, affectedly meek 

Min', mind ; resemblance 

Mind't, mind it ; resolved, intend- 
ing 

Minnie, mother, dam 

Mirk, mirkest, dark, darkest 

Mi sea', to abuse, to call names 

Misca'd, abused 

Mislear'd, mischievous, unman- 
nerly 

Misteuk, mistook 

Mither, a mother 

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly mixed 

Moistify, to moisten 

Mony, or monie, many 

Mools, dust, earth,, the earth of 
ihe *n:ave ; to rake i' the mools, 
to lay in the dust 



Moop, to nibble as a sheep 
Moorlan', of or belonging to moors 
Morn, the next day, to-morrow 
Mou, the mouth 
Moudiwort, a mole 
Mousie, diminutive of mouse 
Muckle, or mickle, great, big, much 
Musie, diminutive of muse 
Muslin-kail, broth composed sim- 
ply of water, shelled barley, 
and greens 
Mutchkin, an English pint 
Mysel, myself 

NA, no, not, nor 

Nae, no, not any 

Naething, or naithing, nothing 

Naig, a horse 

Nane, none 

Nappy, ale ; to be tipsy 

Negleckit, neglected 

Neuk, a nook 

Niest, next 

Nieve, the fist 

Nievefu', handful 

Niffer, an exchange ; to exchange, 

to barter 
Niger, a negro 
Nine-tailed-cat, a hangman's 

whip 
Nit, a nut 
Norland, of or belonging to the 

north 
Notic't, noticed 
Nowte, black cattle 

0',of 

Ochils, name of mountains 

O haite, O faith ! an oath . 

Ony, or onie, any 

Or, is often used for ere, before 

Ora, or orra, supernumerary, that 

can be spared 
O't, of it 

Ourie, shivering; drooping 
Ours el, or oursel3, ourselves 
Outlers, cattle not housed 
Owre, over; too 
Owre-hip, a way of fetching f. 

blow with the hammer over tbfe 

arm 

PACK, intimate, familiar ; 

stone of wool 
Painch, paunch 

Paitrick, a partridge 



472 



GLOSSARY. 



Fang, to cram 

Parle, speech 

Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a well- 
known Scotch dish 

Pat, did put ; a pot 

Pattle, or pettle, a plough-staff 

Paughty, proud, haughty 

Pauky, or pawkie, cunning, sly 

Pay't, paid ; beat 

Pech, to fetch the breath short 3 as 
in an asthma 

Pechan, the crop, the stomach 

Peelin, peeling, the rind of fruit 

Pet, a domesticated sheep, &c. 

Pettle, to cherish ; a plough-staff 

Philabegs, short petticoats worn 
by the Highlandmen. 

Phraise, fair speeches, flattery ; to 
flatter 

Phraisin, flattery 

Pibroch, Highland war music 
adapted to the bagpipe 

Pickle, a small quantity 

Pine, pain, uneasiness 

Pit, to put 

Placad, public proclamation 

Plack, an old Scotch coin, the 
third part of a Scotch penny, 
twelve of which make an Eng- 
lish penny 

Plackless, penniless, without mo- 
ney 

Platie, diminutive of plate 

Plew, or pleugh, a plough 

Pliskie, a trick 

Poind, to seize cattle or goods for 
rent, as the laws of Scotland 
allow 

Poortith, poverty 

Pou, to pull 

Pouk, to pluck 

Poussie, a hare, or cat 

Pout, a poult, a chick 

Pou't, did pull 

Pow, the head, the skull 

Pownie, a little horse 

Powther, or pouther, powder 

Powthery, like powder 

Preen, a pin 

Prent, to print ; print 

Prie, to taste 

Prie'd, tasted 

Prief , proof 

Prig, to cheapen ; to dispute 

priggin, cheapening 

Primsie, demure, precise 



Propone, to lay down, to propose 
Provoses, provosts 
Puddock-stool, a mushroom, fun 

gus 
Pund, pound ; pounds 
Pyle, a pyle o' caff, a single 

grain of chaff 

QUAT, to quit 
Quak, to quake 

Quey, a cow from one to two 
years old 

RAGWEED, the herb ragwort 
Raible, to rattle nonsense 
Rair, to roar 

Raize, to madden, to inflame 
Ram-feezl'd, fatigued ; overspread 
Ram-stam, thoughtless, forward 
Raploch, properly a coarse cloth ; 

but used as an adnoun for 

coarse 
Rarely, excellently, very well 
Rash, a rush ; rash-buss, a bush 

of rushes 
Ratton, a rat 

Raucle, rash; stout; fearless 
Raught, reached 
Raw, a row 
Rax, to stretch 
Ream, cream ; to cream 
Reaming, brimful, frothing 
Reave, rove 
Reck, to heed 
Rede, counsel ; to counsel 
Red-wat-shod, walking in blood 

over the shoe-tops 
Red-wud, stark mad 
Ree, half drunk, fuddled 
Reek, smoke 
Reekin, smoking 
Reekit, smoked ; smoky 
Remead, remedy 
Requite, requited 
Rest, to stand restive 
Restit, stood restive; stunted; 

withered 
Restricked, resiricted 
Rew, to repent, to compassionate 
Rief, reef, plenty 
Rief randies, sturdy beggars 
Rig, a ridge 
Rigwiddie, rigwoodie, the rope or 

chain that crosses the saddle of 

a horse to support the spokes of 

a cart ; spare, withered, sapless 






GLOSSARY". 



473 



Rin, to run, to melt 

Rinnin, running 

Rink, the course of the stones, a 
term in curling on ice 

Rip, a handful of unthreshed corn 

Riskit, made a noise like the tear- 
ing of roots 

Rockin, spinning on the rock, or 
distaff 

Rood, stands likewise for the 
plural roods 

Roon, a shred, a border or selvage 

Roose, to praise, to commend 

Roosty, rusty 

Roun', round, in the circle of 
neighbourhood 

Roupet, hoarse, as with a cold 

Routhie, plentiful 

Row, to roll, to wrap 

Row't, rolled, wrapped 

Rowte, to low, to bellow 

Rowth, or routh, plenty 

Rowtin, lowing 

Rozet, rosin 

Rung, a cudgel 

Runkled, wrinkled 

Runt, the stem of colewort or cab- 
bage 

Ruth, a woman's name ; the book 
so called ; sorrow 

Ryke , to reach 

SAE, so 
Saft, soft 

Sair, to serve ; a sore 
Sairly, or sairlie, sorely 
Sair't, served 
Sark, a shirt ; a shift 
Sarkit, provided in shirts 
Saugh,the willow 
Saul, soul 
Saumont, salmon 
Saunt, a saint 
Saut, salt, adj. salt. 
Saw, to sow 
Sawin, sowing 
Sax, six 

Scaith, to damage, to injure, in- 
jury 
Scar, a cliff 
Scaud, to scald 
Scauld, to scold 
Scaur, apt to be scared 
Scawl, a scold ; a termagant 
Scon, a cake of bread 
Sconner, a loathing ; to loathe 



Scraich, to scream as a hen, par- 
tridge, &c. 
Screed, to tear ; a rent 
Scrieve, to glide swiftly along 
Scrievin, gleesomely ; swiftly 
Scrimp, to scant 
Scrimpet, did scant ; scanty 
See'd, did see 
Seizin, seizing 
Sel, self; a body's sel, one's self 

alone 
Sell't, did sell 
Sen', to send 
Sen't, I, &c. sent, or did send it ; 

send it 
Servan', servant 
Settlin', settlin ; to get a settlin, 

to be frighted into quietness 
Sets, sets off, goes away 
Shachled, distorted ; shapeless 
Shaird, a shred, a shard 
Shangan, a stick cleft at one end 

for putting the tail of a dog, &c. 

into, by way of mischief, or to 

frighten him away 
Shaver, a humorous wag; a bar- 
ber 
Shaw, to show ; a small wood in 

a hollow 
Sheen, bright, shining 
Sheep-shank ; to think one's self 

nae sheep-shank, to be conceited 
Sherra-muir, Sheriff- moor, the 

famous battle fought in the 

rebellion, A.D. 1715 
Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a 

sluice 
Shiel, a shed 
Shill, shrill 
Shog, a shock ; a push off at one 

side 
Shool, shovel 
Shoon, shoes 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 
Shor'd, offered 
Shouther, the shoulder 
Shure, did shear, shore 
Sic, such 

Sicker, sure, steady 
Sidelins, sidelong, slanting 
Siller, silver ; money 
Simmer, summer 
Sin, a son 
Sin', since 
Skaith. See Scaith 
Skellum, a worthless fellow 



474 



GLOSSARY. 



Skelp, to strike, to slap ; to walk 
with a smart tripping step; a 
smart stroke 

Skelpie - limmer, a reproachful 
term in female scolding 

Skelpin, stepping, walking 

Skiegh, or skeigh, proud, nice, 
highmettled 

Skinklin, a small portion 

Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly 

Skirling, shrieking, crying 

SkirPt, shrieked. 

Sklent, slant ; to run aslant, to 
deviate from truth 

Sklented, ran, or hit. in an oblique 
direction 

Skouth, freedom to converse with- 
out restraint ; range, scope 

Skriegh, a scream ; to scream 

Skyrin, shining ; making a great 
show 

Skyte, force, very forcible motion 

Slae, a sloe 

Slade, did slide 

Slap, a gate; a breach in a 
fence 

Slaver, saliva; to emit saliva 

Slaw, slow 

Slee, sly ; sleest, sliest 

Sleekit, sleek; sly 

Sliddery, slippery 

Slype, to fall over, as a wet fur- 
row from the plough 

Slypet, fell 

Sma', small 

Smeddum, dust, powder ; mettle 
sense 

Smiddy, a smithy 

Smoor, to smother 

Smoor'd, smothered 

Smoutie, smutty, obscene, ugly 

Smytrie, a numerous collection of 
small individuals 

Snapper, to stumble ; a stumble 

Snash, abuse, Billingsgate 

Snaw, snow ; to snow 

Snaw-broo, melted snow 

Snawie, snowy 

Sneck, snick, the latch of a door 

Sned, to lop, to cut off 

Sueeshin, snuff 

Sneeshin-mill, a snuff-box 

Snell, bitter, biting 

Snick-drawing, trick-contriving, 
crafty 

Snirtle, to laugh restrainedly 



Snood, a ribbon for binding the 
hair 

Snool, one whose spirit is broken 
with oppressive slavery ; to 
submit tamely, to sneak 

Snoove, to go smoothly and con- 
stantly ; to sneak 

Snowk, to scent or snuff, as a 
dog, &c. 

Snowkit, scented, snuffed 

Sonsie, having sweet, engaging 
looks; lucky, jolly 

Soom, to swim 

Sooth, truth, a petty oath 

Sough, a heavy sigh, a sound 
dying on the ear 

Souple, flexible ; swift 

Souter, a shoemaker 

So wens, a dish made of oatmeal * 
the seeds of oatmeal soured, 
&c, flummery 

Sowp, a spoonful, a small quantity 
of anything liquid 

Sowth, to try over a tune with a 
low whistle 

Sowther, solder ; to solder, to 
cement 

Spae, to prophesy, to divine 

Spaul, a limb 

Spairge, to dash, to soil, as with 
mire 

Spaviet, having the spavin 

Spean, spane, to wean 

Speat, or spate, a sweeping tor- 
rent, after rain or thaw 

Speel to climb 

Spence, the country parlour 

Spier, to ask, to inquire 

Spier't, inquired 

Splatter, a splutter, to splutter 

Spleughan, a tobacco-pouch 

Splore, a frolic ; a noise, riot 

Sprackle, sprachle, to clamber 

Sprattle, to scramble 

Spreckled, spotted, speckled 

Spring, a quick air in music ; a 
Scottish reel 

Sprit, a tough-rooted plant, some- 
thing like rushes 

Sprittie, full of spirits 

Spunk, fire, mettle ; wit 

Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery ; will- 
o' wisp, or ignis fatuus 

Spurtle, a stick, used in making 
oa* aeal pudding or porridge 

Squad, a crew, a party 



GLOSSARY. 



475 



Squatter, to flutter in water, as a 

wild duck 

Bquattle, to sprawl 

Squeel, a scream, a screech; to 
scream 

Stacher, to stagger 

Stack, a rick of corn, hay,&c. 

Staggie, the diminutive of stag 

Stalwart, strong, stout 

Stan, to stand; stan't, did stand 

Stane, a stone 

Stang, an acute pain ; a twinge ; 
to sting 

Stank, did stink ; a pool of stand- 
ing water 

Stap, stop 

Stark, stout 

Startle, to run as cattle stung by 
the gad-fly 

Staumrel, a blockhead ; half- 
witted 

Staw, did steal ; to surfeit 

Stech, to cram the belly 

Stechin, cramming 

Steek, to shut ; a stitch 

Steer, to molest ; to stir 

Steeve, firm, compacted 

Stell, a still 

Sten, to rear as a horse 

Sten't, reared 

Stents, tribute ; dues of any kind 

Stey, steep ; steyest, steepest 

Stibble, stubble ; stibble-rig, the 
reaper in harvest who takes 
the lead 

Stick an' stow, totally, altogether 

Stile, a crutch ; to halt, to limp 

Stimpart, the eighth part of a 
Winchester bushel 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year old 

Stock, a plant or root of colewort, 
cabbage, &c. 

Stockin, a stocking; throwing 
the stockin ; when the bride and 
bridegroom are put into bed, 
and the candle out, the former 
throws a stocking at random 
among the company, and the 
person whom it strikes is the 
next that will be married 

Stoiter, to stagger, to stammer 

Stooked, made up in shocks as 
corn 

Stocr, sounding hollow, strong, 
and hoarse 

£tot, an ox 



Stoup, or stowp, a kind of jug or 

dish with a handle 
Stoure, dust, more particularly 

dust in motion 
Stowlins, by stealth 
Stown, stolen 
Stoyte, to stumble 
Strack, did strike 
Strae, straw; to die a fair strae 

death, to die in bed 
Straik, did strike 
Straikit, stroked 
Strappin, tall and handsome 
Straught, straight ; to straighten 
Streek, stretched, tight; to stretch 
Striddle, to straddle 
Stroan, to spout, to piss 
Studdie, an anvil 
Stumpie, diminutive of stump 
Strunt, spirituous liquor of any 

kind ; to walk sturdily, huff, 

sullenness 
Stuff, corn or pulse of any kind 
Sturt, trouble ; to molest 
Sturtin, frighted 
Sucker, sugar 
Sud, should 
Sugh, the continued rushing noise 

of wind or water 
Southron, southern ; an old name 

for the English nation 
Swaird, sward 
Swall'd, swelled 
Swank, stately, jolly 
Swankie, or swanker, a tight 

strappin young fellow or girl 
Swap, an exchange ; to barter 
Swarf, to swoon ; a swoon 
Swat, did sweat 
Swatch, a sample 
Swats, drink ; good ale 
Sweaten, sweating 
Sweer, lazy, averse: dead-sweer, 

extremely averse 
Swoor, swore, did swear 
Swinge, to beat ; to whip 
Swirl, a curve; an eddying blast, 

or pool ; a knot in wood 
Swirlie, knaggie, full of knots 
Swith, get aw r ay 
Swither, to hesitate in choice ; va 

irresolute wavering in choice 
Syne, since, ago ; then 

TACKETS, a kind of nails lot 
driving into the heels of shoes 



476 



OL0S3AEY. 



Tae, a toe; three- tae'd, having 
three prongs 

Tairge, a target 

Tak, to take ; takin, taking 

Tamtallan, the name of a moun- 
tain 

Tangle, a- sea-weed 

Tap, the top 

Tapetless, heedless, foolish 

Tarrow, to murmur at one's al- 
lowance 

Tarrow't, murmured 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor 

Tauld, or tald, told 

Taupie, a foolish, thoughtless 
young person 

Tauted, or tautie, matted together ; 
spoken of hair or wool 

Tawie, that allows itself peace- 
ably to be handled ; spoken of 
a horse, cow, &c, 

Teat, a small quantity 

Teen, to provoke ; provocation 

Tedding, spreading after the 
mower 

Ten-hour's bite, a slight feed to 
the horses while in the yoke, in 
the forenoon 

Tent, a field-pulpit; heed, cau- 
tion ; to take heed ; to tend or 
herd cattle 

Tentie, heedful, cautious 

Tentless, heedless 

Teugh, tough 

Thack, thatch; thack an' rape, 
clothing necessaries 

Thae, these 

Thairms, small guts; fiddle-strings 

Thinkit, thanked 

Theekit, thatched 

Thegither, together 

Themsel, themselves 

Thick, intimate, familiar 

Thieveless, cold, dry, spited; 
spoken of a person's demeanour 

Thir, these 

Thirl, thrill 

Thirled, thrilled, vibrated 

Thole, to suffer, to endure 

Thowe, a thaw ; to thaw 

Thowless, slack, lazy 

Thrang, throng, a crowd 

Thrapple, throat, windpipe 

Thrave, twenty-four sheaves or 
two shocks of corn ; a consider- 
able number 



Thraw, to sprain, to twist ; to con- 
tradict 

Thrawin, twisting, &c. 

Thrawn, sprained, twisted ; con- 
tradicted 

Threap, to maintain by dint of 
assertion 

Threshin, thrashing 

Threteen, thirteen 

Thristle, thistle 

Through, to go on with ; tc make 
out 

Throuther, pell-mell, confusedly 

Thud, to make a loud intermit- 
tent noise 

Thumpit, thumped 

Thysel, thyself 

Till't, to it 

Timmer, timber 

Tine, to lose ; tint, lost 

Tinkler, a tinker 

Tint the gate, lost the way 

Tip, a ram 

Tippence, twopence 

Tirl, to make a slight noise; to 
uncover 

Tirlin, uncovering 

Tither, the other 

Tittle, to whisper 

Tittlin, whispering 

Tocher, marriage portion 

Tod, a fox 

Toddle, to totter, like the walk of 
a child 

Toddlin, tottering 

Toom, empty ; to empty 

Toop, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet ; a farm-house 

Tout, the blast of a horn or trum- 
pet ; to blow a horn, &c. 

Tow, a rope 

Towmond, a twelvemonth 

To wzie, rough, shaggy 

Toy, a very old fashion of female 
head-dress 

Toyte, to totter like old age 

Transmugrified, transmigrated, 
metamorphosed 

Trashtrie, trash 

Trews, trowsers 

Trickie, full of tricks 

Trig, spruce, neat 

Trimly, excellently 

Trow, to believe 

Trowth, truth, a petty oath 

Tryste, an appointment ; a fair 






GLOSSARY. 



477 



lYysted, appointed ; to tryste, to 
make an appointment 

Try't, tried 

Tug, raw hide, of which in old 
times plough-traces were fre- 
quently made 

Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quarrel, to 
fight 

Twa, two 

Twa-three, a few 

*Twad, it would 

Twal, twelve ; twal-pennie worth, 
a small quantity, a pennyworth 
N.B. One penny English is 
12d. Scotch 

Twin, to part 

Tyke, a dog 

UNCO, strange, uncouth; very, 

very great, prodigious 
Uncos, news 
Unkenn'd, unknown 
Unsicker, unsure, unsteady 
Unskaith'd, undamaged, unhurt 
Unweeting, unwittingly, unknow- 
ingly 
Upo\ upon 
Urchin, a hedgehog 

VAP'RIN, vapouring 

Vera, very 

Virl, a ring round a column, &c. 

Vittle, corn of all kinds, food 

WA', wall ; wa's, walls 

Wabster, a weaver 

Wad, would; to bet; a bet, a 
pledge 

Wadna, would not 

Wae, wo, sorrowful 

Waefu', woful, sorrowful, wail- 
ing 

Waesucks ! or waes me ! alas ! O 
the pity 

Waft, the cross thread that goes 
from the shuttle through the 
web ; woof 

Wair, to lay out, to expend 

Wale, choice; to choose 

Waled, chose, chosen 

Walie, ample, large, jolly ; also an 
interjection of distress 

Wame, the belly 

Wamefu', a bellyful 

Wanchancie, unlucky 

Wanrestfu', restless 



Wark, work 

Wark-lume, a tool to work with 

Warl, or warld, world 

Warlock, a wizard 

Warly, worldly, eager on amassing 
wealth 

Warran, a warrant ; to warrint 

Warst, worst 

Warstl'd or warsl'd, wrestled 

Wastrie, prod gality 

Wat, wet ; I wat, I wot, I know 

Water-brose, brose made of meal 
and water simply, without the 
addition of milk, butter, &c. 

Wattle, a twig, a wand 

Wauble, to swing, to reel 

Waught, a draught 

Waukit, thickened as fullers do 
cloth 

Waukrife, not apt to sleep 

Waur, worse ; to worst 

Waur't, worsted 

Wean, or weanie, a child 

Wearie, or weary ; many aweary 
body, many a different persoa 

Weason, weasand 

Weaving the stocking. See Stock- 
in, p. 477 

Wee, little; Wee things, Utile 
ones ; Wee bit, a small matter 

Weel, well ; Weelfare, welfare 

Weet, rain, wetness 

Weird, fate 

We'se, we shall 

WTia, who 

Whaizle, to wheeze 

Whalpit, whelped 

Whang, a leathern string ; a piece 
of cheese, bread, &c. ; to give the 
strappado 

Whare, where; Whareer, wher- 
ever 

Wheep,to fly nimbly, jerk; penny- 
wheep, small beer 

Whase. whose 

Whatreck, nevertheless 

Whid, the motion of a hare run- 
ning, but not frighted ; a lie 

Whid din, running as a hare or 
cony 

Whigmeleeries, whims, fancies, 
• .rotchets 

Whingin, crying, complaining, 
fretting 

Whirligigums, useless ornaments, 
fling appendages 



478 



GLOSSARY. 



Whissle, a whistle ; to whistle 

Whisht, silence ; to hold one's 
whisht, to be silent 

Whisk, to sweep, to lash 

Whiskit, lashed 

Whitter, a hearty draught of li- 
quor 

Whun-stane, a whin-stone 

Whyles, whiles, sometimes 

Wi', with 

Wicht, wight, powerful, strong; 
inventive ; of a superior genius 

Wick, to strike a stone in an ob- 
lique direction; a term in curl- 
ing 

Wicker, willow (the smaller sort) 

Wiel, a small whirpool 

Wine, a diminutive or endearing 
term for wife 

Wilyart, bashful and reserved ; 
avoiding society or appearing 
awkward in it ; wild, strange, 
timid 

Wimple, to meander 

Wimpl't, meandered 

Wimplin, waving, meandering 

Win, to win, to winnow 

Win't, winded as a bottom of yarn 

Win', wind ; Win's, winds 

Winna, will not 

Winnock, a window 

Winsome, hearty, vaunted, gay 

Wintle, a staggering motion ; to 
stagger, to reel 

Winze, an oath 

Wiss, to wish 

Withoutten, without 

Wizen'd, hide-bound, dried, 
shrunk 

Wonner, a wonder; a contemp- 
tuous appellation 

Wons, dwells 

Woo', wool 

Woo, to court, to make love to 

Woodie, a rope, more properly 
one made of withes or willows 



Wooer bab, .the garter knotted 
below the kne«* with a couple ot 
loops 

Wordy, worthy 

Worset, worsted 

Wow, an exclamation of pleasure 
or wonder 

Wrack, to teaze, to vex 

Wraith, a spirit or ghost ; an ap- 
parition exactly like a living 
person, whose appearance is 
said to forebode the person's 
approaching death 

Wrang, wrong ; to wrong 

Wreeth, a drifted heap of snow 

Wud, mad, distracted 

Wumble, a wimble 

Wyle, to beguile 

Wyliecoat, a flannel vest 

Wyte, blame ; to blame 

YAD, an old mare; a worn-out 

horse 
Ye; this pronoun is frequently 

used for thou 
Yearns, longs much 
Yearlings, born in the same year, 

coevals 
Year is used both for singular 

and plural years 
Yearn, earn, an eagle, an ospray 
Yell, barren, that gives no milk 
Yerk, to lash, to jerk 
Yerkit, jerked, lashed 
Yestreen, yesternight 
Yett, a gate, such as is usually at 

the entrance into a farm-yard 

or field 
Till, ale 
Yird, earth 

Yokin, yoking ; a bout 
Yont, beyond 
Yours el, yourself 
Yowe, an ewe 
Yowie, diminutive of yow 
Yule, Christmas 



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